Quicksand
by FutureMrsStabler
Summary: Nightmare and reality collide when Wilson is kidnapped to force a confrontation with House.
1. Chapter 1

_**House, MD**_** is the property of David Shore, Bad Hat Harry Productions, Heel and Toe Productions, and NBC Universal. I claim no ownership to any parts or characters.**

**Author's Note: Setting is early to mid-season 4. Story is intended to be strong H/W friendship only but can be seen as pre-slash for anyone so inclined.**

The shrill beeping of the alarm clock pounded into his skill like a jackhammer and made him jump. He peeked an eye open toward the bedside table at the clock. 7:15

_Damn it._

House groaned into his pillow, wanting more than anything to pull the blanket over his head and go back to sleep. Normally he would have without a second thought, except that after finding out that he had blown off his clinic duty earlier that week and hid out in Wilson's office Cuddy had threatened to quadruple his hours **and** his scheduled days if he skipped out again.

He rebelliously laid where he was for another five minutes before heaving an irritated sigh and forcing himself to move. His leg howled its morning hello as he reached automatically for the pill bottle next to the clock.

The scowl planted itself over his face while he headed reluctantly for the shower.

______________________________________________________________________________

Wilson drained the last of his coffee as he looked over the scans in front of him but his attention was rudely interrupted when the gulp turned out to be cold. He spit it back into the cup with a grimace of disgust.

He checked his watch and then pushed away from the desk. The way he was feeling that morning, he wouldn't have objected to getting a coffee IV line inserted straight into his veins.

It didn't surprise him to see that House hadn't arrived yet when he rounded the corner out of his office. The man made it his goal to see just how late he could push it to piss Cuddy off every day. He was intending to head downstairs to grab another cup of coffee from the cafeteria, but the smell of it wafting from the Diagnostics conference room was too inviting.

The team looked up when he pushed open the door and he smiled. "Morning, guys," he said, nodding toward them.

Kutner returned the greeting with naïve enthusiasm, making Foreman glance his way with amusement and huff a small condescending laugh. Thirteen greeted him with a pleasant smile and Taub regarded him somewhat suspiciously but gave him a nod in return.

Foreman tilted his head towards him with an expression of familiar camaraderie as Wilson walked further inside. "Morning," he replied.

"Uh-" Kutner spoke a little too loudly and sat up from his slumped position like he was eager. "House isn't here yet."

The look of incredulous amazement that Taub directed toward the younger man at the statement made Wilson quickly clear his throat to keep from laughing. Kutner didn't notice and though he was positive that someone was going to blurt out what he knew they all wanted to (his immediate retort of "No shit, Shirlock?" was the politest out of the others in his head), he couldn't bring himself to be mean to him. Yet.

"The only thing I'm looking for is caffeine," he said vehemently, heading straight for the coffeepot as he spoke. "I hate Mondays."

"Trust me, we know the feeling," Thirteen said wryly.

He chuckled while filling a mug. "You've already got a case?" he said in surprise, looking towards them for a minute as he sifted through the packets of sugar and creamer. "It's barely even 8:30."

Foreman rolled his eyes. "He's got clinic duty until noon. He's been texting us descriptions of people waiting trying to get us to diagnose them so that he doesn't have to see them," he said. He shared a longsuffering look with Wilson before nodding toward the far counter. "There might be a couple of boxes of flavored creamer somewhere in there if you want."

Wilson raised both eyebrows agreeably and went over to it. The team resumed their previous discussion while he poked around underneath the counter.

______________________________________________________________________________

Leaning casually against the nurses' station, House scanned the waiting room again and then glanced at Cuddy's office. Empty.

He began typing another message with the phone held down low in front of him so that it was out of sight of anyone passing.

**MID AGE WMN. MAKEUP TOO DARK. BELIEVE SHE MAY BE ZOMBIE. **

"House."

The stern voice came from behind him and made him jump. He pressed SEND quickly before turning around.

Cuddy glared at him. "Why are there so many people-" she gestured in irritation at the crowded waiting room-"out** here** and you're not in **there**?"

She looked toward the exam room doors pointedly. He eyed her in concern when her gaze leveled at him again.

"You do realize," he said with his eyes narrowed in scrutiny, "that it might not be a good thing to make that vein in your forehead pop out so much?"

Her eyes flashed at him as she snatched up one of many patient files that he was supposed to be working through. She looked like she was going to hit him with it and he raised his arm up with a warning look. Cuddy's lip curled in disgust.

"I don't need to use violence to hurt you," she said cynically. He sneered at her and she smacked the file into his chest firmly. "The patient in exam room two has been waiting for fifteen minutes. You either get in there now or you'll be covering diaper duty in the maternity ward for the next three months."

He strode away quickly towards the room without a second thought. She smiled.

"Killian, Adam," he recited loudly as he burst into the room reading the file. .

The man sitting on the exam table jumped at his entrance and House mentally gave himself a point.

"**Please** tell me how I can help you," he went on sarcastically, dropping onto the stool and rolling to the table. "I am just dying to make your day better."

Killian looked at him with annoyance. "I've been waiting in here for twenty minutes," he said angrily.

House raised his eyebrows with shock. "My **God**," he declared. "Twenty minutes? Wow." He looked down exaggeratedly at his watch. "That means that….18, 203 of your brain cells were killed sitting here. If I were you I'd sue this hospital."

He pulled the file open loudly with a steely gaze that showed how he felt about the man's complaining. The patient's expression turned dark.

"So," House continued. He read from the file again. "You have several bumps on your arm that look like pimples…."

______________________________________________________________________________

House's team was striding down the hall in his direction when Wilson stepped out of his office and he greeted them with a smile as they passed each other. He continued down the corridor while they disappeared into the conference room.

Cuddy's office was empty when he stepped through the lobby doors. It surprised him a little but he figured something urgent must have just popped up within the last few moments. He stepped further into the office and sat down on the couch to wait for her.

She didn't make an appearance until close to fifteen minutes later, when he suddenly caught a glimpse of her back positioned beside the nurses' station from out of nowhere. He'd already been afforded a glorious eyeful earlier when she was walking away from them but couldn't resist helping himself to another through the glass windows of the office.

It both marveled and mystified him how the she did it. If he hadn't have known and been such good friends with her over the past five years, he would have sworn that their Dean of Medicine wasn't really a human. Had any one of his former wives ever put that purple skirt-suit with matching heels, she would have just ended up looking like a canvass of something resembling grape-flavored vomit. Worn by Lisa Cuddy, it sent his mind conjuring up replications of the porn videos he ordered on Sunday nights.

The nurse standing behind the desk pointed toward him and he was quick to avert his gaze when he saw Cuddy turn around. Consequently, it made him miss the look of confusion on her face along with the even lovelier front-angle portrait she made.

He made sure not to look up until he heard the door opening, so that he could direct his eyes in a straight path right up to her face without stopping for a scenic visit elsewhere.

"Wilson?"

She stepped into the office with an air of someone extremely rushed and wearing a slightly confused expression. Her voice was wary as she regarded him on her couch.

"Did…you need something?" she asked.

His own brows crinkled curiously at her demeanor but it was easy to see that she had obviously been in the middle of something. He immediately rose to his feet, waving at her reassuringly.

"Oh, no, no," he said, shaking his head insistently. "You're busy. Just let me know when you're ready for me. I can wait, it's not a problem."

Her already unsure face morphed into practically incredulity. "Beg your pardon?" she inquired with raised eyebrows.

She sounded genuinely baffled and was looking at him like he'd sprouted a second head from his neck. Uneasiness began to seep into his bones as he shifted a bit to pull the folded paper from his pocket.

"I…got this email a few minutes ago," he began, holding the message he'd printed out awkwardly. "Saying something urgent had come up with one of my cases and you needed to meet…"

Before the words were out of his mouth he realized with dread that the situation was horribly wrong. Her perplexed expression as she was taking the paper from him and unfolding it said it all.

His blush spread all the way down his neck. "That you…obviously didn't send me," he finished lamely as she scanned the words with a critical eye.

_From: Cuddy, Lisa A. (.)_

_To: Wilson, James E. (.)_

_Subject: Urgent _

_Dr Wilson,_

_I have come across an area of concern regarding the case file of Daniel Joseph Baldwin (case # 006472) that you submitted for my approval. Please meet with me immediately to discuss this matter. _

_Thank you,_

_Lisa Cuddy, M.D._

_Dean of Medicine_

_Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital_

Her forehead crinkled. "This didn't come from **my** computer," she said plainly. "I didn't send this…" Her expression furrowed even more. "Wilson, I signed off on this case last Thursday. You came here and picked it up yourself before I had the chance to get it to your office."

Embarrassment sent his face flushing again. He hadn't even remembered that when he had read the message. Now it flashed in his mind like a neon sign. He had personally watched Mr. Daniel Baldwin being wheeled out of the hospital after overseeing two days worth of post-operational care from the surgery removing a tumor from his kidney.

"Oh," he said dumbly. He felt like a complete idiot. "Um…yeah. Yeah. This-this must have accidentally been recycled into my inbox again." His cheeks were hot now. "Sorry."

"It's alright," Cuddy replied distractedly. She had already pulled the door back open quickly and her voice was dismissing him while trying to remain polite. "I'm sorry, Wilson, but I have to be upstairs in about four seconds-"

"Right," Wilson said quickly. He hurried to leave while inwardly kicking himself. "Right, of course."

She spared him a rushed smile as they parted ways in the lobby and then scurried to the elevator. He crumpled up the paper and tossed it in the trash on the way back upstairs.

But for some reason, the email kept nagging at him. He was having a hard time keeping his mind on what he was doing. When he lost the point he was trying to remember for the second time while working on a committee lecture, he had enough. He turned back toward the computer and clicked on the email program.

He ignored the new messages for the moment and scrolled down to the one from Cuddy that he hadn't yet erased. He was positive that this was the first time he had seen it. Still, he clicked into his outbox to see if it had come from there. It hadn't. He did the same with drafts, deleted messages, and sent messages even though he knew checking that one was pointless. Nothing.

Wilson furrowed his brow. He opened the message again. It wasn't until he read through it again that he thought to check the time stamp and it confirmed his belief.

It **had **been sent to him that day.


	2. Chapter 2

The sun was shining cheerfully when House zoomed into his parking space the next morning. When he lifted off his helmet he was able to see the outside grounds already milling with people taking advantage of the nice weather. Most of them were patients but there were a good number of doctors and nurses around as well.

He looked to Cuddy's office the moment he stepped into the front lobby and didn't see her. He kept his head down nevertheless and headed quickly to the elevators. For all he knew, she could be hiding behind a plant somewhere waiting to pounce when he walked by.

He continued to look around anxiously while waiting for the car in case she tried to sneak up on him. House smiled victoriously when the doors chimed with still no sign of her and stepped forward when they opened.

"**Good **morning."

He jumped and then scowled when Cuddy stepped into his path from inside the elevator. Her cheeky smile oozed of menace.

"It's nice to see a doctor so anxious to get to work," she said.

Her words sounded sincere but her eyes held evil glee. House regarded her warily in case she was about to produce a pitchfork. He lifted his cane to push her aside but she stood firm with her hand braced against the door holding it open, the evil smile never wavering.

"I see you called up your demons to follow me," he said. "I'm surprised you managed to get here already. I thought it took a lot longer than that to come up from Hell."

"Well, you would know better than me," she retorted smoothly. She was unaffected by his glare and breezed smoothly past him out of the car, pressing the button for the 5th floor as she went. "Your team begged me for a case when I went to your office, so they're all ready and eager for you." She smiled widely. "You can thank me later."

The doors closed on his mutinous expression. She turned on her heel and headed for her office.

______________________________________________________________________________

Wilson stepped back again and blew out his cheeks slightly.

The young woman sitting on the exam table looked at him apologetically while the toddler she held in her lap continued screaming. He needed to listen for fluid in the child's lungs but every time he tried to come near the little boy wriggled like a fish and shrieked at a decibel level not meant for human ears. He had tried twice already but still hadn't managed to get the bell of the stethoscope onto the child's chest because he wouldn't keep still.

He could tell that the mother was teetering on the end of her rope. She looked both frustrated and mortified as she looked up at him. "I'm so sorry," she said again, slightly breathless.

She was petite with a very small frame and had to physically struggle to restrain her child as he did everything possible to get out of her lap. She attempted to trap his head underneath her chin and Wilson flinched when she narrowly avoided a head butt to the face from the flailing.

He shook his head reassuringly. "Oh, it's alright," he said patiently. "Believe me. It's no problem." He smiled encouragingly at her and was happy to see her smile shyly back after a minute. Then he looked around the exam room curiously. "I think I might be able to help."

Wilson walked over to the counter. He picked up the glass jar of tongue depressors and carried them back over to the exam table. After looking inquisitively at the woman and receiving a nod, he crouched onto his haunches to be slightly below the boy's eye level.

"Hi, buddy," he said gently. The toddler turned his head away and against his mother's chest with a stubborn grunt. "I bet I know why you're not feeling very happy in here. It's because it looks a lot like a doctor's office, huh?"

The boy didn't respond or look at him.

"But I'll tell you a secret," he continued. "There are only a few really special people who can know, so you have to promise that you won't tell anybody, okay?" Wilson saw the child peek slightly over for a moment and lowered his voice to a hushed whisper. "This isn't really a doctor's office. It's a music studio."

The boy was looking at him openly without realizing it. Wilson smiled at him with glittering eyes. He opened the jar he held and extracted two tongue depressors.

"You see these?" he asked. The toddler nodded curiously. "Guess what they do."

When the boy looked at him in confusion he began tapping the depressors together in an upbeat rhythm. The mother smiled at her son to encourage him and glanced at Wilson with appreciation in her eyes. He continued tapping energetically, then tapped then on the table and gently on the toddler's knee, making the boy smile.

Wilson held the sticks out towards him. "Want to try them out?"

He smiled when the child took them and then glanced at his mother amicably. She nodded at him with a grateful smile. As the boy tapped out his own beat, Wilson snuck the bell of the stethoscope up onto his chest.

_____________________________________________________________________________

Kutner came through the glass doors speaking.

"Thyroid and glucose levels are normal," he said. He held up a handful of papers.

Thirteen looked over at House in defeat. He erased HYPERTENSION from the whiteboard and glared at her. "Strike two for Thirteen," he said angrily. He raised his eyebrows as he looked around at Foreman and Taub. "Anyone else brave enough to step up to the plate?"

Foreman fixed him with a mutinous look. "Coronary Artery disease," he said. "Inflamed blood vessels caused Atherosclerosis which led to loss of consciousness."

"She lost consciousness four times in an hour," House replied. "Last time I checked, Atherosclerosis didn't beat someone down three more times after jumping her." He squinted at Foreman. "That's more along your 'hood lines, right?"

"Cardiac Syncope," Kutner suggested. "The fainting could have been a result of heart palpitations."

"Coronary Artery disease seems more likely," Taub disagreed. He looked over at Foreman. "The patient is Latino. They're more likely to develop heart issues, especially given her age."

House scowled. "Double-teaming usually means that someone is trying to kiss ass," he said rudely. He raised his eyebrows at Taub. "The question is….whose ass is it that you're going for?"

Taub glared at him indignantly. "Why do you automatically assume it's me doing the ass-kissing?"

Both House and Foreman scoffed at the same time and then eyeballed each other with suspicion.

"Palpitations usually cause fainting quicker than Atherosclerosis does," Kutner argued after the moment of awkwardness. "We should get an echocardiogram."

House wrote both diagnoses on the whiteboard. "Get the echo and test for both," he decided. He headed toward the other desk. "Foreman and Kutner get an intravascular ultrasound to check for palpitations, Taub and Thirteen get an EKG to check blood flow to the heart."

Thirteen noticed House reaching for the phone as they were leaving the room. "Can't use the phone," she called out.

The receiver was already at his ear and he was scowling at the lack of dial tone before he heard her. He glared at her as if she was his own personal enemy. She raised her eyebrows, unaffected.

"Hospital maintenance all day today," she went on. "Phone and cable lines are out until afternoon so they can check everyone's connections. Cuddy sent out an email about it yesterday."

Her statement ended wryly and she gave a small smirk. She was usually the one who fielded the mail for the Diagnostics department but it didn't matter, even it was someone else doing it. House didn't waste his time reading email. That much had been obvious from the very first day the team had begun working. She'd known it even before Doctor Cameron had helpfully advised them during their first week about her previous experience concerning the matter while she had worked for him.

She turned on her heel and headed out before she could see the expression on his face and he could see the one on hers. She could still feel the daggers he was glaring into her back.

It didn't lessen her amused and vengeful grin as she made her way down the hall.

______________________________________________________________________________

"Yes," he continued. "Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital, that's correct. My DEA number is BR5382736."

"Thank you," the woman replied. "Please hold."

Wilson sighed through his nose but said nothing as the line was switched over again. He sat listening to intermittent beeps indicating that the connection was still open until the door to his office was abruptly heaved open. He jumped even though he shouldn't have.

He began waving his hand firmly at House before the man was even inside, indicating that he was on the phone, and just received an amused look. He shook his head with a warning glare.

As if it made any difference. House barreled forward without pause. "Call them back," he demanded as he lumbered up to the desk. His hand reached for the phone base as he spoke. "I'm starving. Food's not going to buy itself."

Wilson lunged forward quickly, pulling the base into his lap before House could terminate the call. He covered the receiver with his hand as he moved and surprised the other man with an uncharacteristic expression of fire.

"House," he snarled through clenched teeth, "touch this phone and I swear to God I'll put laxatives in your coffee every day for the rest of your entire life."

Angered from having let Wilson's tone actually wound him for a moment, House snapped back at him quickly. "Someone's on the rag today," he said. He checked his words but only barely. "Who the hell pissed in your cornflakes this morning?"

Wilson just glared at him again. "I've been trying to get access to these drug trials for the past four months," he replied. "I'm on hold with the head of the National Cancer Institute. Go to the cafeteria now if you're that hungry. Get me something while you're down there and bring it back. I wouldn't be able to stay anyway."

The bossiness made House raise an eyebrow at him daringly but he knew how to stop it. He dug into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. "If you can get mine up here without eating all of it, I'll pay for yours when you get back."

The other man continued to raise his brow and Wilson saw the spark of satisfaction gleam in his eyes. House gave him an affronted expression anyway that he knew was faked.

"I'm getting a Porterhouse, then," House said defiantly. "The biggest cut I can find." He made his way to the door again. "And lobster." He turned and grinned devilishly at him. "I'll make them find me a lobster."

Wilson shook his head in disgust as House walked away and then laughed when he was out of earshot.

"Hello, Doctor Wilson?"

He snapped to attention immediately when the line was abruptly picked up again, sighing in mental relief as he began speaking again.

______________________________________________________________________________

Wilson was still on the phone when he got back upstairs. House shook his head incredulously at him and mouthed the word "sucker" as he crossed over to the couch. His friend drew his finger across his throat in a silent slash threat and cut his eyes at him. He snorted.

He began sorting the food once he was settled, making sure to take a quarter of the French fries from Wilson and adding them to his own already large pile. He had taken the trouble of bringing lunch back for them, after all. He eyed the food critically for a minute, glanced over at where Wilson had his head bent writing as he spoke on the phone, and then took the cookie from the other man's plate as well to call it even.

He reached over and placed the other Styrofoam container on the corner of Wilson's desk before digging into his cheeseburger. Unfortunately, the cafeteria would not serve him Porterhouse or lobster, not even after he had tried to bribe them by telling them they could have his friend's credit card number to use for their next shopping trip.

"Yes." The gratitude in Wilson's voice was audible. "I appreciate it, Doctor Morgan. Thank you so much."

House watched his friend puff out a giant sigh and then reach for the container on his desk so quickly that it nearly toppled over the edge. He began gulping down the sandwich inside as if he hadn't eaten in a year and House couldn't help but gawk at him. It wasn't often Mr. Neat-and-Tidy ate like a caveman, even when off the clock and out of public eye. He would know….he had been trying for years to corrupt the other man but to this day was still unable to get Wilson to make a mess while eating.

When he realized that silence had fallen, Wilson looked up in the middle of a giant mouthful and seemed surprised to see House staring at him. "What?" he mumbled as he chewed.

House grinned. "Nothing," he said, pushing French fries into his mouth.

Wilson made short work of his lunch, wolfing it down without seeming to even chew, only to nearly choke to death when House cracked a wicked joke that made him burst into unexpected laughter. Part of a French fry sucked down his throat to make him hack as he snickered uncontrollably, but every time he tried to breathe it just became more difficult because hearing House's howls of laughter at him made him crack up even more.

"Shut-up," he croaked, reaching immediately for his drink. He took a giant sip, managing to glare in House's direction through watered eyes. "You're not helping." The fry went down and he gulped in a breath of air with a cough.

House raised an eyebrow once he was breathing normally again. "Guess someone is going to have to monitor your food intake," he said, "seeing as you can't even chew a potato without needing the Heimlich." He leaned forward with a leer to snatch Wilson's container towards him. "You'd better give them to me, they're not safe."

Wilson just managed to snag it with his hand with an indignant grunt and for a moment the two of them sat still, each holding one end of the box and eyeing each other in a mental tug-of-war.

A knock on the door was the saving grace for House. Wilson looked over toward it automatically and House grabbed the box out of his hand. He glared at House sourly but spoke with a nuetral tone.

"It's open," he called out without getting up.

The door opened and one of Wilson's fellows poked her head through in. "Dr. Wilson," she was saying, about to walk through the doorway. She was holding a file against her middle. "There's-" The woman stopped in her tracks when she saw House and her face became apologetic. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt-"

He opened his mouth to reassure her but House spoke before he could get the chance.

"And yet you're still standing here doing it anyway," he said rudely. "Find someone else to hold your hand for you, he's busy."

Shock came over her face instantly at the words and her expression became so horrified that she looked about to cry. She was a new hire, fresh out of medical school, and had not yet dealt with any of the hospital staff except for her boss.

He felt terrible. "Shut up, House," he snapped viciously, whipping his head toward him for a minute. The other man rolled his eyes. Ignoring him, Wilson smiled at his fellow and invited her in with a wide gesture. "Just ignore Doctor House, Jacqueline. You're not interrupting at all. What can I do for you?"

Jacqueline became less tense at his words but approached him shyly anyway. "I-I was just coming to let you know that a transfer arrived today from Robert Wood Johnson University Hospital," she said. She came up beside his desk and held the file out to him, unable to keep from eyeing House apprehensively. "The referral is from Doctor Thomas Kearney."

"What's the patient's name?" Wilson asked. He had already bypassed the face sheet and was studying the treatment history from the other hospital as he spoke.

"Um-Drake," she answered after a second's hesitation to remember. "Morgan Drake."

House's attention suddenly sharpened and drew him away from picking the largest fries out of Wilson's lunch. The name sounded unusually familiar.

"35-year old Caucasian male…" Wilson was mumbling to himself aloud as he read from the pages. "Presented with moderate right-sided chest pain…family history of ischemic heart disease. Lesion excised from right pectoralis major muscle revealed symptoms of Hodgkin's Lymphoma…."

Damn it. House hated it when he got hit with the inability to remember something when he was actively trying to. He knew he'd heard that name somewhere before. Damn it, where had he heard that name before?

"Alright," Wilson said. He stood up. "Thank you, Doctor Wells. I'll be right up."

She nodded and left quickly. He buttoned the cuffs of his sleeves and looked at House. The other man was still sprawled against the back of the couch, chewing lazily. Wilson stared at him pointedly.

"House," he prompted. House just raised his eyebrows smugly without speaking. Wilson's eyes narrowed in exasperation. "Out."

"That's okay," House responded, as if he had been asked. "I'll keep your couch warm while you're gone."

Wilson rolled his eyes while reaching for his lab coat. "I'm sure," he said sardonically. He could just imagine what the man would be able to mess with in his office when he wasn't there. He buttoned the coat and moved in front of his desk toward the door. His tone became slightly sharp as he looked at House again. "House. Seriously. Leave."

The other man opened his mouth indignantly but before he was able to speak his pager began to beep shrilly. Wilson smirked. House sneered as he looked at the screen.

"You're lucky my team is a bunch of idiots," he said haughtily as he stood up. He made a mock threatening face at his friend as they walked out together. "Don't be thinking you kicked me out."

Wilson just waved him away as they split paths.

______________________________________________________________________________

"-And I want to know exactly how many times the file changed hands," Cuddy said, turning her head back toward the surgeon as she walked. "We can't find out when the information got mixed up until we find out who was adding to it."

The surgeon nodded as he walked away. She opened her office door and stepped briskly inside.

Seeing a man seated behind her desk made her heart jump. She gasped reflexively, halting abruptly. The man stood up quickly with his hands out plaintively.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I'm sorry to startle you, Doctor Cuddy. I have to upload the upgrades on all of the computers. It only takes a few minutes and your assistant said it would be alright to come in." He began getting up. "I can come back-"

Cuddy shook her head, feeling foolish. "No, no," she said. "It's fine, go ahead. I just had to grab something anyway." She went around the desk and unlocked the bottom drawer. The man began to move but she stopped him with a wave. "You're fine." She went back to the door with the book she had come for. "Take all the time you need."

The man nodded. He sat back down once she had gone and began typing again.

______________________________________________________________________________

"Patient's still stable," Kutner said, entering first slapping a file against one hand with the other. At House's uncaring expression, he raised his eyebrows and clarified. "Seizure woman."

Thirteen scowled disapprovingly first at House, who continued to look like he would be more interested in studying microscopic lint, and then at Kutner.

"Sara Cummings," she said dryly. At that, House raised an eyebrow at her and she shrugged sarcastically. "Thought she'd appreciate having her doctor call her by her name…but of course you know what they say about assuming." Her scowl was almost art-worthy. "Seeing as her doctor hasn't even looked at her since she's arrived."

House made an exaggerated put-upon expression. "Wow," he said, addressing the other men with wide-eyed horror. "Dude…I'd step back if I were you guys, seriously. Women can sense PMS…it's like they have a tracking system or something." He took a gigantic step back toward his desk while she glared at him. "Any minute now Cuddy and Cameron are going to come charging in here to triple the effect, I'm telling you."

Taub and Foreman stared back at him with their usual annoyance but he felt a twinge of pride when Kutner began inching his way to the side away from Hadley nervously. She just shook her head in disgust.

His face slackening to his normal impatience, House shouldered his backpack and mowed his way through the fellows to the door.

"Keep monitoring her brain wave activity during the night," he pulled open the door as he spoke, "try not to kill her if she has another seizure, and if anybody calls me it better be because there's a stripper making rounds in the pediatric ward."

He smirked at the grumbles he heard floating out behind him before the door closed. He glanced through the window of Wilson's office as he passed it but the blinds were shut. He had seen the lights still on through the balcony door before his team had arrived and knew his friend was most likely at his desk doing paperwork trying to avoid leaving.

Pathetic. Wilson was the most anal retentive doctor alive…the man didn't have any paperwork that needed immediate attention. Hell, he probably didn't have any paperwork that needed attention in the next two months. He was so pathetic that he actually made extra work for himself just so he could avoid going home to his pathetic hotel room and being reminded that his life was insanely pathetic, when they both knew full well that Wilson was just going to end up calling him later on anyway because he was bored and hear him talk about how pathetic he was.

The night air was more frigid than he had originally thought and he zipped his jacket against the chill as he got onto his bike.

______________________________________________________________________________

His wrist popped as he signed the last line on the page and he winced, lifting his arm. The small letters were beginning to swim in front of his eyes as fatigue began teasing him again.

Wilson sighed, fighting a yawn. He shouldn't have been tired, it was only quarter past eight. But it had been a rather busy day and he hadn't slept well the night before. Big surprise there. Sometimes he really did think that the maids were slowly filling his mattress with rocks every day when he was gone. He would swear that the damn thing wasn't so uncomfortable three months ago.

He had watched House leave through the balcony door hours ago. He hadn't seen any sign of the fellows since then, but the lights were still on in both his friend's office and the conference room so he knew at least some of them were still there.

He was tempted to just push aside the budget report and flop down on the couch, but that only lasted for about half a second.

His brain immediately jumped in horror. Good God….had he had actually just entertained the idea of going to sleep on that dust-covered cushioned plank from Hell? He almost shuddered.

Maybe I do need to get out of here. I'm more exhausted than I thought!

He shut off the lamp quickly before he could change his mind, knowing that if he thought about it too long he would convince himself to stay where he was and then he really would end up sleeping in the office.

The front lobby was far from bustling as he exited the elevator on the ground floor, but it was still a relief to see that he wasn't the only person still there who wasn't part of the night shift. He didn't remember having met the duty nurse behind the main desk as he passed, but he must have sometime before because she called him out by name as bid him goodnight. He smiled kindly as he returned the sentiment.

He didn't even remember that he'd left his cell phone in his coat pocket that morning until he discovered it while rooting around for his keys in the parking garage with numb fingers. The blue light on top was flashing to indicate messages waiting, which dismayed him because he realized he'd had it on all day and the battery was probably almost dead now.

He depressed the automatic lock on the key fob and opened the door quickly, anxious to start the heater as he flipped open the phone. The ignition roared to life as he turned the key without looking up from the display screen.

Both text messages were from House and were almost three hours old. Rolling his eyes, he slipped off his gloves to press the speed dial for his friend.

An explosion rocketed around him before he exhaled his next breath. His hand jerked reflexively to send the phone flying up against the windshield.


	3. Chapter 3

_**House, MD**_** is the property of David Shore, Bad Hat Harry Productions, Heel and Toe Productions, and NBC Universal. I claim no ownership to any parts or characters.**

Chase exhaled bitterly as he trudged toward his car.

Of all the days to have been running late and forced to park in the damn parking garage two miles away from campus, it would have to be today. He was tired, more so than usual for a day at work, but he supposed it could have been from the fact that he couldn't remember having been able to get off of his feet for more than maybe twenty minutes.

He'd had ER rotation that day and had been scheduled to get off at seven that evening until a multiple vehicle accident had quite literally smashed through that idea. An SUV with a blown tire had smashed into the side of a freeway overpass and three compact cars had collided trying to dodge it. Ten people were brought in with serious injuries ranging in severity from a middle-aged male with three cracked ribs to a four-year old with a face sliced so deeply from glass fragments that a reconstructive team was probably still working to keep his nose attached. To say he was looking forward to his bed would have been putting it mildly.

It felt like it took hours for him to finally, finally, come within viewing distance of his car at last. He was perturbed when he found that digging into his coat pocket produced no keys and frowned as he began moving toward his jeans.

A sudden crash of breaking glass that sounded like it was coming from right next to him made him jump almost two feet off of the ground. It was immediately following by the shrill shriek of a car alarm that nearly burst his ear drums.

The close proximity of the noises more than shocked him and he stood frozen for a moment without being able to help it as adrenaline surged through his veins. He fingered one of his keys into a fist defensively as he looked around the semi-darkened garage, his heart pounding frantically.

It was easy to spot the source of the obnoxious racket. His eyes were immediately drawn to the back end of a silver car, with taillights flashing in rhythm with the alarm, and against his better judgment began to cautiously step toward it. He kept his key in a tight hold ready to draw out of his pocket if need be.

Seeing a figure suddenly stagger into view from the front end of the car shocked him even more. His fist dropped the keys before he even realized it and he immediately quickened his pace.

______________________________________________________________________________

"Doctor Wilson?"

The frantic voice had an unmistakable accent. He knew before he had even reached the bumper of the Volvo who was rushing toward him with shoes slapping the pavement.

That was about the only thing that Wilson could make sense of at the moment. He dumbly reached out a hand to the side of the vehicle and felt surprised when he felt it under his palm.

"Are you alright?"

There it was again, the voice, but now it was next to him. He knew who it was but was still confused when turned his head up around and found himself staring slightly up at Chase. The young doctor had one arm hooked around his back, practically lifting him from the ground, before Wilson's muddled focus could recognize that he was being supported.

"Are you alright?" he repeated. His face appeared immensely concerned and surprised. "What happened?"

Wilson shook his head to compose himself but it apparently produced the opposite effect because in the next second he felt his shoulders being pushed solidly down. He immediately began to resist, embarrassment flooding his cheeks as he regained his sense of what was happening, and found himself unmatched against a surprisingly strong colleague. He was down and propped against the back tire of his car before he could formulate a word otherwise.

"Don't-" He attempted to get to his feet anyway, tried to wave off the assistance. "It's fine, I'm fine-" Hands steeled against his shoulders to stop his progress, startling him at their effectiveness in keeping him down. Annoyed, his tone became edgy. "Chase-"

"Hold still," Chase said without preamble. Wilson was shocked into silence when the man took off his jacket and pressed it against his face. "You're bleeding."

The younger man pulled began speaking into his cell phone rapidly. Wilson hadn't even seen him pull it out.

"This is Doctor Chase," he said. "I need a wheelchair brought out to parking garage C immediately."

When he began to sit forward in protest, Chase fixed him with a firm stare. He sighed and sat muted with surprise while the other doctor put pressure on a spot near his left eye, lifted after a minute then put pressure on a spot near his temple. This was repeated at least four times in various different areas and all the while Wilson still was trying to piece together just what the hell they were doing there.

Holding the jacket tightly against Wilson's head, Chase sat back on his haunches to look him in the face. "What happened?" he asked again.

"I…I don't-" Dazed, Wilson shook his head. "I was just…in my car. And then my back window shattered. I don't…" He trailed off and shook his head again.

Chase rocked upwards slightly with a disturbed expression. "I'd say," he remarked, looking at the back end of the Volvo, "that it looks more like someone took a baseball bat to it,"

"What?" Wilson got to his feet incredulously despite the look of disapproval from Chase and went behind the bumper. His face scrunched angrily and he pounded his hand on the trunk when he saw the damage. "Damn it!"

The back window had been smashed in the center, leaving a gaping hole and cracked glass all along the side edges of the rest of it. He could only imagine how hard something could have been slammed into the window to make the sound that he had heard and cause glass to fly all the way into the front.

"Did you see anyone around when you were getting into your car?" Chase asked, having stepped up beside him.

He opened his mouth to answer but was cut short by the arrival of three nurses, all wearing alarmed expressions. One of them was pushing a wheelchair. He shot an annoyed look at Chase and turned toward them.

"I'm fine," he said quickly, holding his hands out toward them. "A wheelchair isn't necessary. I'm okay."

"You haven't stopped bleeding," Chase interjected. His voice had an authoritative tone as he came around Wilson's side. Wilson looked at him warningly but the younger man just leveled the expression right back at him. "We don't know how deep the glass cut you or exactly where. You could have damage to supraorbital veins or occipital tributaries." When Wilson began to balk, he raised his eyebrows threateningly. "Either you get in the wheelchair or we're carrying you back inside."

Wilson scoffed in disbelief and shook his head. But then he looked at the young man's firm stance and flexed forearms and realized that, damn it, Chase could actually do it. He grudgingly walked over to the wheelchair.

"You've been around House too long," he grumbled, sitting down angrily and glaring up at Chase.

Chase smiled cheekily as they turned back toward the hospital.

______________________________________________________________________________

It was two hours earlier than she normally arrived and Cuddy was not happy as she came through the front doors. She didn't think that she was wearing a menacing expression but judging by the speed of which everyone seemed to be hurrying out of her way as she went to her office, it must have been pretty close.

Getting a call from the head of security for the hospital had **not** been part of her routine the night before as she was getting into bed. Being informed that an act of vandalism had occurred on hospital property made her edgy enough, but hearing the details of the incident had made her downright cataclysmic.

She had paged the clinic in seconds and once she had gotten through had demanded to speak to Wilson immediately. He told her that he was fine, that it wasn't a big deal, and that there was nothing more to it than just plain bad luck. She told him to take the next day off and then promptly made him give the phone to Chase so she could find out if he really **was** alright.

Needless to say, her sleep hadn't been particularly restful that night. She had managed to doze for a few hours but had still been awake long before the alarm. Thinking about what would need to be done now because of what had happened browbeat her into getting up instead of trying to sleep some more, but that didn't mean she had to like it.

Cuddy nursed an extra-large cup of coffee as she took off her jacket and settled behind her desk. Her thoughts were everywhere and she had no idea where to begin.

She definitely needed to send a memo to everyone on staff about the incident, not intended to give details but making sure they began to take extra caution when leaving the building. She would have to move more security officers to the front lobby at night to provide walking escorts for anyone who so desired and-

_Damn it! _ Outraged thoughts were triggered of their own accord in the middle of organizing. _Just where the hell __**was**__ security last night, anyway? If they're patrolling the hospital grounds like they're supposed to be, there's a good chance this might not have happened. What if someone had been hurt, for God's sake?! That's the whole reason for __**having **__them here!_

Well, that mixed up her plan. She supposed that before she could send a hospital memo, she was going to have to meet with the hospital security team and work out details for new assignments. She might even have to deal with human resources to get more officers added and wouldn't **that** just be a barrel of fun.

And somehow she had to make time to do all of this while maintaining the normal insane amount of work required to keep the hospital running smoothly.

Cuddy groaned and rubbed her temples. She downed a huge mouthful of coffee.

_I don't get paid enough for this_.

______________________________________________________________________________

"We shouldn't rule out cancer yet, either," Thirteen said from his right side as she and the other two tried to keep pace with him going down the hallway. They were headed back for the whiteboard after having just had the current patient begin bleeding internally during an MRI. "Test the blood for abnormal white cell count."

House paused at the corner and turned toward Wilson's office while the fellows continued to the conference room. He turned the doorknob while barreling forward into the door like he always did and was annoyed when his body was blocked solidly. He jiggled the locked doorknob obnoxiously.

"I know where you sleep.…" he droned in a loud dramatic impression of a robot with a bad deep accent.

No response. He began banging on the door but got no answer. His eyebrows furrowed indignantly and he headed straight to his office. Taub spoke as soon as he came through the door but House ignored him as he made a beeline for the balcony door. Wilson was going to damn well let him in whether the man liked it or not.

"Wilson's not here," Kutner called out just as he was stepping out.

He looked over anyway and was perturbed when he saw a dark office that was minus one oncologist. Scowling, he turned back inside and went into the conference room. He glared at Kutner.

"Since when have you two been going over each other's schedules?" he growled.

The younger man stared back at him with a face so naïve that it made House want to deck him. It wasn't any fun when his target was still at the sucking-up phase and not yet experienced enough to react when prodded.

"Cuddy gave him the day off," Kutner replied. When House continued to look at him blankly, he elaborated, "Because of last night."

House's expression indicated that his words were the stupidest he had ever heard. "Did he run over someone's puppy or something?" he asked mockingly. "Get into a fight with the transvestite nurse?"

"You don't know?" Taub's voice from the other end of the table sounded surprised. His eyebrows were raised in genuine disbelief. "Wilson didn't tell you?"

He was beginning to get pissed and it showed in his dark glare at Taub.

Wilson keeping something from him always angered him. But having his fellows thinking they had one-up on him was not an option. Hell no.

Taub's intelligence appeared to prove more useful than his physical stature did. He spoke again before House could snarl at him.

"Someone bashed in the back window of Wilson's car while he was leaving," he said. "He got some cuts from the glass but nothing serious. They patched him in the clinic." Seeing House's affronted expression, he added, "Cuddy sent out a memo this morning about it."

House was immediately suspicious. "Cuddy wouldn't give details like that out around the whole hospital," he countered. He raised his eyebrows warningly but then became slightly stricken. "Wilson talked to **you**?"

He wasn't kidding about the warning. Being kept in the dark by Wilson made him mad….finding out that Wilson had kept him in the dark while letting his fellows in on it would equal DEFCON 1 mode on Wilson's ass.

"No," Kutner piped up. "Chase told us. He was walking to his car when it happened and took Wilson to the clinic."

Yeah, right. One of his **former** employees talking to one of his **new** employees about something that had happened with his best friend that Wilson hadn't even told **him** about? There were too many things wrong with that to even begin dissecting, so House went with the most obvious piece of bullshit first.

Instead of bothering to respond to Kutner, he leveled a glare at Foreman. Foreman just rolled his eyes without even needing to decipher it.

"Chase told me when we passed this morning," he said in exasperation. "**I** told them about it."

House scowled to cover up his involuntary surprise at the words. _Damn._ Foreman reserved his tone of reproach for times when he was actually **right** and knew the information would only piss him off more.

The three fellows looked at him with expressions half-intrigued and half-wondering. The only thing he hated more than Wilson sending him in circles and Foreman being right was being looked at like that- that open, probing look that indicated someone was trying to understand him, trying to **empathize** with him.

And damn it, Cameron had probably taught them that. The six of them probably had secret fellows-society meetings when he wasn't around and traded war stories from working under him.

"Go stick needles in the patient," he said snippily. "See what kind of funk is building up inside of her that might cause bleeding out of her orifices."

Kutner, Taub, and Thirteen left the room but Foreman remained sitting and simply looked at him in amusement. House turned around to kill his satisfaction.

______________________________________________________________________________

He bit back a frustrated sigh as he skirted around his friend again.

"Move," Wilson said with annoyance. He closed the file and placed it with the others on the nurses' station counter. "I have to finish these charts."

He turned around toward the other end of the counter again and almost ran smack into House. The other man was still standing in the exact same spot, right in his path. He clenched his teeth and shook his head.

"House," he said, moving around him again. "I'm-

House just kept on pressing as if he hadn't even said anything and didn't budge. "And what the hell," he went on angrily. "Conspiring with my **underlings** behind my back? Why would you-"

"Because I didn't want anyone to make a big **deal** out of it," Wilson shot back hotly. He had managed to get back over to where the pile of charts was sitting and looked over at House with irritation as he opened one of them. "And I knew that **you** would just mock me and start hiding in the parking lot at night so you could scare me when I'm getting in my car."

House pouted but smiled wickedly. "My influence has rubbed off," he said. He donned an exaggerated tone of wistfulness. "You make me so proud."

Wilson rolled his eyes as he scribbled notes in the file without looking up but House gaze had narrowed already, his demeanor returning to its normal brusqueness. He looked over Wilson's face warily.

"Did you put that bandage on yourself?" he asked curtly. It came out as almost a command and House didn't really care about an answer. His hands were already working their way underneath the adhesive. "It looks like it was done by a five-year old."

Wilson attempted to push him away with an incredulous grunt but House didn't move. The words were as short and cynical as they always had been, but the hands were surprisingly gentle against his skin when House removed the bandage covering the cut on his temple. He even rested his fingers on Wilson's temple between the bandage and his skin so that there wouldn't be any pain of having the adhesive stick while pulling it off.

"Chase did it," Wilson retorted. He tolerated the other man in his personal space for about a half second more and then had it. "Get off." When House continued to probe the area after the bandage was removed, he scowled and knocked him back again lightly with a scowl. "**Quit**. Leave it alone."

"You're an idiot for even letting him look at it," House said snidely. "Good thing you didn't need surgery. God knows what you would have come out looking like with Chase at the helm."

Wilson rolled his eyes. "I kind of need that," he said sarcastically, reaching to snatch the bandage away from House.

The other man tossed it to the side before he could get it. When he looked at House indignantly, his friend just gave him the look that meant he had found something interesting to explore and started towards him.

He held out his hands in warning. "House," he said. "Whatever it is you're thinking, forget it. I'm not-"

House gave him a condescending, disgusted glare. "Quit being such a drama queen," he roused. He began shoving Wilson's shoulder toward the hallway. "We're in the clinic, moron. Lucky for you, there's a **qualified** doctor with nothing to do who's willing to cover those cuts the **right** way." Wilson balked and tried to duck out of his grasp. He pushed his back so that he couldn't. "Just shut up and come here."

"House-" Wilson warned.

The rest of his threat was cut off by House pushing him into an empty exam room with exasperation.

______________________________________________________________________________

Foreman narrowed his eyes. He brought the scan closer to his face in scrutiny.

"Look at that small spot near the left side of the hippocampus," he said. He laid the scan down on the table within reach of the others. "Shadow or abscess?"

The other three around the table leaned in to examine the scan as well. Taub scrunched his face warily.

"It's an odd shape," he said critically. He peered closer. "I think it's an abscess."

Thirteen opened her mouth to speak and was cut off when three different variations of sound began emitting from their pagers. Everyone checked their waists.

"Patient's flat lining," Kutner said grimly, getting to his feet. He hurried toward the door with Taub and Thirteen trailing him.

Almost the moment he emerged into the hallway, he collided with a man who was walking inside with a ladder. Kutner yelled in surprise and they both bounced back slightly from the force of impact. The other two doctors stopped short in shock when they saw what had happened.

"Aw," Kutner said anxiously. He immediately went back toward the man in concern. "I'm sorry, man. I didn't see you. Are you alright?"

Taub and Thirteen came up beside Kutner quickly, ready to help. The man looked embarrassed.

"It was my fault," he insisted. "My fault entirely. I'm installing new bulbs into all of the lights in the hospital and I had to go get another size." His expression was sheepish. "I wasn't even paying attention when I-"

"It's fine," Thirteen interrupted. She looked at the other doctors. "I'm sorry, but we have an emergency. We have to go right now."

"Oh, sure. Sure." The man stepped to the side quickly. "Excuse me."

Taub hurried past him without a word. Thirteen nodded at him curtly as she did the same. Kutner hung back for another minute.

"Sure you're okay?" he double-checked.

"Absolutely," the man assured.

Kutner nodded and took off down the hallway in the same direction as the others. The man hefted the ladder in his hand and continued into the conference room. Foreman looked at him warily.

"Maintenance," he said, nodding toward the ceiling.

Foreman nodded at him and returned to his study of the scan.

______________________________________________________________________________

He sighed when the credits began to play. Yawning, House shoveled another spoonful of the Velveeta shells and cheese pasta into his mouth from the saucepan resting on his lap. He flipped the channels through the lineup once and found nothing worthy of attention.

He scrolled through his endless TIVO list. Everything was crap. Crap…crap….more crap-

"Yes," he said victoriously. He stopped on the listing for TG Motocross that he'd recorded a few days ago. "That's what I'm talking about."

He stretched his pajama-clad leg out along the couch and settled against the side couch cushion. Almost like clockwork, his cell phone rang the moment he was comfortable. He cursed in fury.

The phone lay within reach on the coffee table. Every fiber of his being encouraged him to ignore it. He knew, he **knew**, that it was either going to be Cuddy or one of the team members telling him something that was going to make him have to go back in. He was tired and was **not** going to do it. No one could make him.

He returned his attention to the television and tried to focus on the motorcycle race.

But the phone just kept ringing.

And ringing.

And **ringing**.

Good **God**… he finally snatched it up when it continued to ring after thirteen times.

"**What**?" he all but yelled into it.

"House."

Wilson's voice carrying over the line extinguished his anger quickly. He relaxed and smirked into the receiver.

"Wilson, seriously," he said sardonically. "I don't **care** if you just had a hooker with tits bigger than Mount Rushmore over. Tell me about it tomorrow, I'm watching the motocross race of the century."

"House-"

"Ooh! Damn!" A spectacular crash sucked his interest to the television and he spoke into the phone as if Wilson was watching it at the same time. "Dude, did you see that?" He became more excited when the slow-motion replay highlighted spectacularly on the driver of the bike flying into the air. "Holy shit! That guy just-"

"**House**!"

Wilson **did** yell into the phone, sounding unnecessarily high-strung. He scowled and seethed when Wilson's voice made him miss what the announcer had said about the impact.

He got back on the phone. He was going to light into the other man like nobody's business.

"Damn it," he hissed. "I just missed the most awesome crash in the history of motocross because of you! What the hell do you **want**?"

______________________________________________________________________________

House's sniping verbal attack was nothing but white noise in his ear as he continued to stand in the hallway right outside of his apartment doorway.

The lights were on through the open door because he had flicked them on while coming inside like he always did and he could see through the entire front half of the place. Wilson just kept staring in, as he had been for the past…..he had no idea how many minutes.

His briefcase had been set on the ground beside his feet a little while ago when he had stopped before entering his apartment. He was still in the same spot. He hadn't even given a second thought when he was pressing the speed dial for House's number. He just stared.

The words his friend was grumbling came into his awareness after trying to get his attention for the third time. He clenched his teeth.

"House, shut up," Wilson finally managed to say, breaking into the man's flow of bitterness. He swallowed and spoke again before his friend's angry retort could come. "My apartment has been broken into."


	4. Chapter 4

_**House, MD**_** is the property of David Shore, Bad Hat Harry Productions, Heel and Toe Productions, and NBC Universal. I claim no ownership to any parts or characters.**

The police officer that had been in the back corner of the apartment emerged from the hallway. Wilson blew through his cheeks while the man exchanged a short series of nods with the other officer who was standing in the kitchen area with him.

The officer turned back to Wilson. "The residence is secure," he said.

If he had to guess, he might have thought that the officer could have been making an attempt at reassurance. And that was giving the man credit. He could tell in one second by the monotonous tone and almost lazy manner that these cops didn't give one half of a shit about what had happened and it would be forgotten before they even walked out the door.

"If you think anything was stolen or notice any personal items missing," the officer went on, "you can come down to the Princeton Borough Police Department and fill out a burglary report. We'll have a team working around the clock to find the perpetrator and recover anything if need be."

Wilson inwardly scoffed. _Sure you will_**. **

"Unfortunately, your locks **were** broken and we'll have to replace them," he continued. "It's strongly recommended that you refrain from staying in the residence until new locks are installed on your door. You don't have to leave, of course, if you feel strongly against it. We'll be initiating an extra police present inside the building for the time being and will be checking frequently on the floor for any suspicious activity, but we do strongly advise against it. Is there someone you could stay with tonight?"

He fought back a sigh. Of course he intended to go over to House's place. He'd made that known firmly practically the minute after calling to tell his friend what had happened- like he was going to remain inside here with the filth of **violation** ruining his home?

But it wouldn't come without a price. Oh, no. He shook his head in disgust. House was going to be having a field day with this for probably the rest of both of their lives.

A **normal** friend would have been concerned and shocked on his behalf, would have immediately insisted that he come over and that they were both going to go through the legal nightmares so that he wouldn't have to do it alone.

What **he** had was House. When he'd elaborated about the situation after first getting his attention, the man had responded with mock horror asking if his blow-dryer and _West Side Story_ soundtrack were missing. An invitation to stay the night with his friend had come in the form of House bitterly telling him that there was no way he was getting the shower first in the morning and that he'd better bring a nightlight if he wanted to keep any boogeymen away because eating him was going to be encouraged.

So of course, his already edgy mood had become sour by that point and it was only exacerbated when he'd told House that he had to call the police and probably wouldn't get to his place until late. He had been able to **hear** the snarky grin on House's face and his friend had only said _"don't let them do a cavity search"_ before hanging up on him with a laugh.

The police officer looked slightly surprised when he gave a resigned sigh.

"Yes," he said in reply to the man's question. He scowled slightly. "Unfortunately….I do."

The officers didn't continue with the subject but he knew they thought he must have been a little out there. They left with practiced politeness and fake promises of finding the perpetrator and he sighed as he prepared himself for the inevitably long night he was about to have with House.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

She raised her head at the knock on her office door. Her hand paused in flipping through the last month's financial reports when she saw two unfamiliar men standing just outside.

Cuddy stood up automatically to walk over to the door. For security reasons, she didn't give them permission to come in until she was standing to the side with her hand on the doorknob of the other half of the double doors.

Both appeared very pleasant. They either recognized her guardedness or were just well-mannered because one of them quickly dropped a few steps back away and the other remained still in the doorway without attempting to cross over it.

"Good morning, Dr. Cuddy," he said, smiling. He extended his hand into the doorway toward her. "I'm Lester Gibbons, head of maintenance with Princeton University Facilities."

"Yes," she said immediately. She shook his hand firmly. "Of course...." Cuddy stepped away from the door and gestured invitingly. "Please, come in."

"Thank you ma'am," Gibbons said. "That's alright. I just came to let you know that all of the network updates have been successfully completed and the building maintenance is finished. We're going to run a master check on the system to make sure there are no problems and then we'll be out of here."

She smiled with relief. "That's great," she said. "Thank you so much." Cuddy turned back toward her desk. "Let me just double-check that the billing address is correct so the hospital will know where to send payment-"

"No…no that's okay." The abrupt response was unexpected. She turned back and was surprised to see that one of the men was already making his way quickly back out into the main lobby. The other looked as if he was seconds away from hurrying to do the same. "The company representative will come by later to get it. Thank you."

The man was almost rushing the words together. She knit her eyebrows in confusion as she watched him practically run out to join his coworker.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 The elevator was stifling and it felt like there were a hundred people jammed inside with her. Naturally, someone **had** to get off on every single floor. By the time the car finally stopped on the second floor, Thirteen was ready to rip the doors apart with her hands just to escape.

She exhaled deeply once she was out into the open air and walked into the Emergency Room. Her eyes scanned the room carefully until she found who she was looking for. She began weaving her way around people and beds to the back corner.

"Cameron," she said.

The other woman was standing with her back to Thirteen, unhooking a leg traction from above an empty bed. She turned her head when she heard her name.

"Hey," she replied.

She sounded surprised and it showed on her face when she turned around fully. Thirteen couldn't blame her. It wasn't often that any of the new fellows interacted with the former ones outside of House's sphere. They were all still sort of feeling each other out. Having to work so closely with Foreman, there had never really been any chance for awkwardness between the new team. There was some hesitation with Cameron and Chase. They were all extremely friendly and cordial to each other but there was still an obvious bit of uncertainty whenever they all interacted.

"Got a minute?" Thirteen asked. "I wanted to ask you for a favor."

She personally had never had a problem with Cameron or Chase. She liked both of them enough. She just wasn't the kind of person who got buddy-buddy with anyone.

Cameron quirked her eyebrows. "Is there a lawsuit involved anywhere in this?" she questioned in return sardonically. She brushed her hair back from her face with a smile, letting Thirteen know she wasn't serious.

"Not yet," Thirteen replied wryly, smiling back. "I actually just want to know if you have ER records for a patient of ours that was brought in here a few days ago. We think looking at them might help explain some of the symptoms he's presenting with now."

The blonde brushed lightly past her and headed for the station desk. "How many days ago?"she asked as she approached a filing cabinet.

Thirteen had to pause a minute to rack her brain. She didn't have the file with her because she hated carrying folders around all the time and tended to commit things to memory so she wouldn't have to. "Maybe two?"

Cameron slid out a drawer but before she could say anything a commotion from behind them got both of their attentions. A team of paramedics was pushing a stretcher into the room. She immediately came back around the desk.

"They should all be alphabetized," she said in a hurry over her shoulder. "Most recent admittance is in the top drawer but they probably only go back four days at most, so I can't guarantee you'll find it. If you don't then you'll have to go through the computer logs, sorry."

She became a blur of lavender scrubs as she strode over to take control of the stretcher and began directing the paramedics. Thirteen turned back to the cabinet and pulled the drawer out further to check the letter of the names.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

He tilted his head back when the song picked up speed.

"..Don't you fly-ahh-**hy**," House belted out. "Freee-eeebird yeah!"

The guitar melody blasted out from the speakers and he began slamming the pens he held in each hand on top of the desktop in time with the rhythm.

Muffled music echoed into the outside hall but Taub tuned it out without even knowing it as he walked back toward the conference room. He was reading the file of a teenaged patient that Simmons down in surgery had asked him to take a look.

But as soon as he opened the door, his eardrums were assaulted by a Lynard Skynard concert hard enough to make him wince. The door separating the two rooms hardly stood a chance against the noise. He pursed his lips in annoyance and tossed the file on the table as he passed it.

He looked into the office. House was leaning back in his chair with his eyes closed, totally rocking out. The man was playing air guitar along with the music so energetically that he was practically coming out of his chair.

Taub rolled his eyes and turned back toward the table.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

A laptop sat open on top of a large packing crate inside the rented U-Haul truck. Two men were congregated near it, one crouched down level with the screen while the other knelt behind the crate hooking the end of a long cable snaking from the front of the truck into the computer base.

"Let me know when it's hooked," the one behind the box said.

The other man said nothing and just continued staring at the black monitor. After a minute the master IP network address for the Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital appeared.

**Admin1: - Master BIND 7.x**

"We're in," the man said.

The man connecting the cable stood up while the one at the keyboard wasted no time in typing.

**Transfer-source Ipv7 address**

He pressed Enter and was presented with a command prompt.

**SYSTEM LOADED BY NODE _____**

He entered the network code for the hospital server that he had gotten from the internal dialogs of the hospital administrator's computer.

**SYSTEM LOADED BY NODE ****COTILLi56NORTH**

He was then prompted for the internal password and he entered it as well. The screen went blank for a moment. The the control list for the entire hospital network was produced. He began effortlessly altering the systems they needed.

**NETWORK IP ACCESS **_**Disabled**_

**NETWORK SHARING **_**Disabled**_

**PC SHARING **_**Disabled**_

**SECURITY SYSTEM **_**Disabled**_

**CAMERAS **_**Disabled**_

Once he had finished, he looked up at his partner and nodded. The other man nodded back in acknowledgement and spoke into the walkie-talkie he was holding to his lips.

"Wait for my signal," he said.

He strode past the man at the computer and lifted the back door of the truck open. He hopped down onto the street, pulled the door closed, and walked around to the driver's side door.

Traffic was moving steadily outside the neighborhood entrance that the truck was parked beside. He looked across the street to the sprawling grounds of the hospital a few yards away.

The man climbed inside and started the ignition. He spoke into the walkie-talkie again.

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

"Go."

A man wearing blue surgical scrubs was lingering nonchalantly beside the window positioned between the emergency fire escape exit and the room at the end of the oncology wing. The hallway was quiet but he casually reached up anyway as if scratching his ear so that the earpiece he wore wouldn't be visible if anyone happened to be able to see him.

He stepped into the empty patient room and pulled the blinds closed. Then he walked over to the phone on the table beside the bed and pulled a small index card from his pocket with a pager number written on it.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

His friend looked at him as if he had just said that Elvis had done his last haircut.

"So?" he said. "Who cares if they didn't steal anything? Go down and get one of those reports and tell them your television, IPod, and safe containing $15,000 is missing." House's devilish expression would have been more at home on the face of a thirteen-year old breaking into his dad's liquor cabinet. On House's face it was frightening. "I guarantee that every signal TV, IPod and large sum of cash taken off of some criminal for the next week will be put aside for you to come see if you can ID it."

Wilson shook his head from across his desk with slight disgust. "Oh, yeah," he said sarcastically. "I'm sure that's exactly what the cops will do. I'm sure recovering stolen merchandise from an apartment break-in will definitely be on the police department's top priority list every time they bring in a drug dealer or-"

His pager suddenly went off, startling him. He reached for it quickly and noticed as he did that House's expression had changed. He didn't bother to keep say anything. He knew it would just be ignored. The wheels were turning in House's head now.

He brought the pager up so he could see the message.

**RM 432 MORGAN DRAKE STAT.**

Immediate concern flooded him. He got to his feet quickly. "Emergency with a patient," he said, looking back over at House. "I've got to go."

House wasn't even paying attention.

"… Would have a priority list," he was saying slowly. His forehead crinkled as something was pieced together inside his head. "The most important thing would be taken care of first…"

His friend stood up and strode quickly out the door without acknowledging him and he just rolled his eyes again. He knew it wasn't because he had just insinuated that House needed to leave. House would have kept his butt parked right there if he hadn't have just gotten his usual "inspiration" from him.

He hurried quickly out of the office as well.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

He was far enough back that anyone passing wouldn't really notice he was there until stopping to look. The man stood quietly beside the wall outside of the room and waited.

Sure enough, about a minute later, the doctor came hurrying past him into the room. He couldn't help but smirk.

_Such careless stupidity. _

He slid out away from the wall with fluid ease and stepped into the room too. He pulled the knife out from underneath his shirt while the doctor spoke in confusion. The doctor was looking at the empty bed and asking Kevin where a patient was, saying something about being paged.

He had to hold back a laugh this time. It really **was** funny to see Kevin in those stupid scrubs. The man had been complaining about that part every time he saw him.

He quickly stepped up behind the doctor before he could finish speaking and reached around, pressing his hand hard over the doctor's mouth. The doctor began to yell as expected but he just clamped tighter to muffle the sound while swiftly bringing the knife up against the doctor's clavicle.

The doctor made a noise that was a cross between a gasp and a choke. He hissed into the doctor's ear while pressing the man back against his body.

"Don't make a sound," he commanded harshly. He pushed the knife harder against flesh to get his point across better. "Not one sound, do you understand me?" The doctor went silent almost instantly. He could feel the frightened, hard breaths searing into his hand and he sneered in disgust. "Walk backwards. Do not speak."

He pulled the doctor back with him and stopped by the wall while Kevin went out into the hallway first to check to see if anyone was in sight. He came back a moment later.

"We're clear," Kevin said, coming up beside the doctor and gripping one of his arms.

Keeping his hand firmly over the doctor's mouth, the man propelled him from the back with the knife remaining at the doctor's throat while Kevin pulled him forward by the arm. They shuffled quickly down the few feet of hallway and shoved the doctor through the doorway of the fire escape.

He forced the doctor down a few steps and paused. He looked back up at Kevin, standing on the landing, and the other man nodded acknowledgement before turning back around. He shut the fire escape door quietly and leaned casually beside it to watch the hallways.

A nurse walked past him. She smiled at him and said hello. He returned both greetings.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Wilson sucked in a breath desperately and stumbled down the stairs. The man was pushing him so quickly that he was trying not to pitch forward.

The knife poised at his neck was in just the right spot. The right amount of pressure and he would bleed to death before he finished realizing it.

His reflexes were in pure panic mode. Synapses in his brain shot rapid-fire sparks of fear through him with every step.

He had no idea who this guy even was…the man had gripped him so quickly from behind that there hadn't been a chance to see him and by the way he was being shoved forward with every step, it seemed like the guy wasn't intending to let him. Wilson tried not to think about what that most likely meant, but his stomach knotted hard anyway.

When they got to the bottom, the man shoved him around and shouldered open the exit door. The moment he realized that he was being taken out of the building was the moment that Wilson felt pure icy terror sweep over him.

He tried to yell again as he was forced out into open sunlight, praying that someone, **anyone**, was nearby. The sound couldn't make it past the hand clamped over his mouth. The man was rushing him toward a U-Haul truck that was sitting by the curb. Wilson saw two men emerging from both ends as he stumbled along the grass.

"Open it up."

His mouth went completely dry when he realized that they were pushing him over to the back of the truck and that one of the men was sliding the door open.


	5. Chapter 5

_**House, MD**_** is the property of David Shore, Bad Hat Harry Productions, Heel and Toe Productions, and NBC Universal. I claim no ownership to any parts or characters.**

Cuddy was in the middle of reading an email when the program abruptly closed. She started with surprise when she found herself facing a black screen.

"What-?" she said aloud, brows furrowing.

She moved her mouse a little and clicked it. Nothing happened. She pressed ENTER a few times. Nothing happened.

She was about to curse when she remembered what the maintenance guy had said. They must have been still doing a final check in the systems.

There was a file in front of her that she needed to give to House's team. She had been distracted from it by the email that her sister had just sent. She picked up the phone while opening the folder to check over the notes.

There was no dial tone.

Her frustration bubbled over. "Are you kidding me?" she said exasperatedly, pressing the base button several times. She exhaled angrily through her nose. "For the love of-"

Cuddy pushed away from the desk extremely pissed off and snatched the file up.

She understood that updates and maintenance took time. This work was going to improve the performance of the hospital network. She was just going to have to be patient. There was no justification for her to act like a snotty child about it and had no intention of doing so in front of anyone.

A sour frown tugged at her face anyway as she left the office.

Damn it…she was still pissed off anyway.

______________________________________________________________________________

Two huge men with body frames of bar bouncers grabbed him roughly the second he was pushed over to the truck. His stomach somersaulted when he suddenly felt the ground disappear from under him and then Wilson was sent stumbling forward into the empty, shadowed truck with enough force to send him careening off balance.

Feet slammed behind him as the men jumped up into the truck and he heard the sound of the door sliding down. Panic rushed through him to make him dizzy.

Then suddenly a body bowled him from behind and knocked the wind completely out of him. His gasp of shock brutally cut off into an agonized squeak as he frantically tried to suck in air. He bent forward desperately to draw his breath only to be pushed hard onto his face. His right cheek connected painfully with the unforgiving steel ground.

His arms were jerked backwards and his hands yanked together. Fear overcame his senses when he felt someone tying them up tightly. He immediately began flailing, kicking and twisting in attempt to get the men away.

Someone stuck a knee hard against the backs of his legs to pin him down at the same time that his arms were pulled up until his chest became suspended off of the ground. Wilson's eyes widened when he heard the sound of ripping while his feet and legs were tied.

His stomach dropped when he saw what was about to happen and he cried out frantically. The sound was silenced in mere seconds as thick tape was wound tightly around his mouth until all that could be heard was terrified, helpless whines.

He was dropped back down onto his face. Wilson could only see their shoes from the corners of his eyes as the men walked past him Tears leaked down his cheeks when he struggled to wiggle his hands and feet and was unable to move.

_____________________________________________________________________________

Kutner came into the conference room and made a beeline for House's office. The man was sitting with his back to the door, slamming a hacky-sack back and forth between his hands.

He jumped about a foot in the air when House yelled before he had even placed his hand on the door.

"Don't want to hear it, Kutner!" House said warningly. "You have a problem, deal with it. If you don't, I don't care!"

He gaped inside at the back of House's chair in amazement. His boss hadn't even turned around! How did he know-?

"Don't bother."

Kutner jumped again and spun around. Foreman was sitting at the end of the table wearing a smirk. He hadn't even glanced over there when he'd come in.

He walked toward the table with a quizzical expression. "What's with him?" he asked, jerking a thumb toward the office.

"He's sulking," Foreman said in amusement. "Wilson didn't show when they were supposed to have lunch. Apparently House decided to go on a hunger strike so that he can be extra pissy when Wilson does come by."

"How long's he been sitting there?" Kutner asked.

Foreman checked his watch. "Twenty minutes and eighteen seconds," he replied, looking up. He shook his head and craned his neck to see around Kutner. "I swear he's really a mutant 6-year old."

Kutner turned around to look as well. He could see House's profile now and he had to laugh at the pouting expression and evident force with which House was slamming the beanbag from hand to hand.

______________________________________________________________________________

The tape had sealed his lips together and he couldn't pry them apart. He was screaming as hard as he could but all that was coming out was breathy whimpering sounds. It was killing his throat but he kept it up anyway, desperately praying that it would be heard by someone, **any**one.

Wilson had been thrown over a beefy shoulder like a sack of wheat after being dragged out of the truck. The four men were walking deep into the woods and his upper body bounced with every step. The man carrying him was as strong as an ox and apparently wasn't affected by the noises or his attempts to wriggle around.

The dirt ground disappeared after a little while longer and he was carried up wooden steps. His heart was surging in his chest and he began hyperventilating through his nose.

His equilibrium tilted nauseatingly when he was abruptly heaved back upright. He was shoved onto his knees before he could take in his surroundings.

Then the barrel of a gun was suddenly pressing between his eyes.

His heart stopped and his bladder released itself.

He yelped in surprise when someone behind him grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked his head back. A low voice hissed against his ear.

"Keep your eyes forward," the man snarled. He pulled Wilson's hair harder with each word, making him whimper in pain. "This tape is about to be removed from your mouth. You make one sound- if I hear you so much as **exhale**- your brains will be splattered onto this floor."

Wilson trembled with fear in the man's grasp.

"You will speak when I tell you," he went on menacingly, "and you will say what I tell you. Disobey these instructions and you will die." The gun cocked loudly in his face. "Do you understand me?"

Tears had started to run down Wilson's face. He nodded frantically in terror.

______________________________________________________________________________

Thirteen smiled reassuringly down at the young woman about to be slid into the MRI machine.

"Ready?" she asked.

The woman nodded and inhaled a deep breath. She was doing her best to hide her nervousness. Thirteen laid a gentle hand on her arm hoping to comfort her a bit.

"It will go fast," she said. "Just lie very still and try not to move. You're going to hear loud clicking noises so try not to let it startle you."

The woman nodded again, her eyes rolling up to follow the progression into the machine after Thirteen pressed the button.

Thirteen turned around and walked back to the control room. Her expression became confused when she saw Taub frowning at the computer from the seat beside hers.

"What's up?" she asked.

He was clicking the mouse. "Nothing is registering," he said, sounding frustrated. He continued clicking aimlessly. "The main screen isn't showing up."

She craned her head slightly to see what he was talking about. The monitor in front of him was displaying a black screen. She furrowed her eyebrows and moved in front of the other computer. Clicking on the mouse did nothing. Her expression deepened as she moved her hands to the keyboard and began hitting keys softly.

"Damn," she muttered.

She looked at Taub, shrugged, and then tried to turn the entire computer off. Nothing. He scowled.

"Guess we scratch off doing the MRI," he said cynically "Know any other way to see inside the cerebral cortex?"

______________________________________________________________________________

House tried not to breathe.

Over the course of his career he had performed countless procedures that required extreme caution and delicacy. He was practiced in handling vital parts literally in his palms that depended solely on his judgment to remain sustaining and could even go as far as to assert that he was at ease with it.

He willed his hand steady as he held the instrument in the air and preparing to make the initial move.

This one was different. This was easily the most delicate and fragile procedure he had ever performed. There could be no second-guessing, no slips. Moving even one millimeter in the wrong direction would mean instant death.

And there would be no room to turn back. One chance was all he had and if he didn't handle it perfectly the entire procedure would fail.

He closed his eyes briefly, inhaled through his nose, and focused. Then he slowly brought his hand down.

The playing card was set down with feather-like gentleness on top of the others to create a third tier to the card tower he was building. He drew his fingers back slowly and eyed the structure.

"**Yes**," House breathed victoriously.

Still eyeing it, he very carefully reached beside him for another card. He brought it forward slowly and aimed it toward the third level.

Then the phone rang beside his elbow.

He jumped reflexively and the entire card tower collapsed in less than half a minute in front of him. Cards scattered over his desk and onto the floor like a waterfall.

"**Fuck**!" he yelled out angrily.

The phone rang again and he snatched it up, crushing the receiver in a furious grip. "You just destroyed an irreversible procedure," he growled without giving the other person a chance to speak. "You'd better be about to tell me that someone is dead or there's a stripper in the pediatric ward if you value your body parts."

For a moment there was just silence and that just pissed him off even more. But before he could slam the phone down, someone spoke.

"Doctor House." The male voice was smooth and unfamiliar. "I would like to have a word with you."

House sneered in reproach. "He's unavailable," he replied. "Leave a message for his secretary."

"Doctor House," the man said again.

He was speaking coolly and sounded completely at ease, perhaps even slightly amused. House moved his finger to the receiver base as if the man hadn't spoken at all.

"Please hold while I direct you to the operator," House went on snottily. "Calls will be ignored in the order they-"

"House."

A different voice was on the other end now sounding shaky and frightened. And he recognized it.

He** recognized** it

But he had never heard it sound like that before.

"Wilson?"

Bewilderment and disbelief rang through in House's voice. His guts had suddenly turned to water and were sloshing around in his stomach, creating an extremely uneasy feeling.

"Do what he says, House," his friend went on. "Please…please do what he says."

"Wilson?" he asked again. "What-?"

Before he could finish, the unfamiliar man was back on the line. "Care to talk to me **now**, Doctor?" he asked. This time House could definitely hear amusement in his voice. "Or would you rather I wait until you're feeling more cooperative?"

House stood up out of his chair so quickly that it slammed into the wall behind him.

"Who is this?" he demanded menacingly. "Where's Wilson?"

"I'll ask the questions, thank you, Doctor House," the man replied easily. He went on smoothly before House could break in. "The first thing I want you to do is turn on your computer."

"Who **is this**?" House repeated sharply. His hand clenched around the receiver. "You'd better tell who the fuck this-"

A scream exploded over the line in the middle of his sentence and he jumped so hard that it felt like his skin was coming off. It was a sound of pure terror and it rose in intensity until it became an actual **shriek**. He instantly knew that it had come from Wilson.

It scared the living shit out of him.

House shot up out of the chair fast enough to send it flying back into the wall. "What the **hell** is going on?" he shouted venomously into the phone.

"Turn on the **computer**." The voice had become hard and threatening. "I will not ask again, Doctor."

He was absolutely stunned, still trying to make sense of what he was hearing. Wilson's scream was still echoing in his ears and he reached to turn on the monitor without realizing it. His muscles had become so tense that it hurt.

"Good," the man said coldly. "Now, the first thing you should know is that the entire hospital is under network surveillance," the man was saying in his ear. "There is a live camera recording inside every single room as we speak, including this one, allowing me to see everything that you are doing right at this very moment."

His eyes narrowed instinctively with suspicion. "That-"

The monitor lit up beside him and the words died in his throat when he turned toward it.

A mirror image of himself and the surrounding office was presented in front of him. He stared at it for a moment, awestruck, and then cautiously moved one hand off of the keyboard. His image on the screen moved simultaneously. He looked around slowly and the image moved with him.

_No…way._

"Click the mouse button once."

House numbly clicked the mouse feeling like he was underwater. The screen went black.

Then a new image was displayed and he lost his breath.

A live stream video was playing with Wilson in the center of the focus. He was kneeling on hard ground with his arms pulled forward, his hands tied to a metal ring sticking out of the floor. He was shaking like a leaf and crying.

There was a man standing in front of him resting an AK-47 barrel on his face.

"So let me ask again, Doctor House," the man went on. "Are you ready to cooperate?"

House sank down into the chair unconsciously. He stared at the screen in transfixed horror without blinking.

The man continued on even without a response. "You should also know," he said, "that every media device connected inside the hospital has been re-routed to our base network and is currently logging the activity of each telephone and computer in access, active and stationary. If you or anyone else in the building even **attempt** to contact law enforcement in any way, Doctor Wilson will have a bullet in his head before one word is exchanged."

House couldn't move. His mouth was dry and he felt his pulse throbbing.

_This isn't real. This can't be real. _

"You're a hypocrite, Doctor House." The cold words registered in his ear like an electric current. "You don't mind leaving strangers' lives to chance but you won't risk your own unless you can control the outcome. It's my turn to return the favor."

The monitor suddenly went black. He had no idea if his heart actually skipped a beat or if it just felt like it. Panic crashed down on him.

"You-" he began to say quickly. He was again interrupted.

"Focus, Doctor House," the man reprimanded, stringing the words apart almost cheerily. "Doctor Wilson will pay the price for every minute that I spend getting your attention. Are we on the same page?"

House exhaled slowly and swallowed. He didn't recognize his own voice when he replied.

"Yes," he said lowly.

For a minute there was only silence on the other end. His heart, already palpitating jerkily and making nausea rise, sped up even more.

"I will give you seven minutes," the man said, announcing his presence again without warning. "In seven minutes I am going to be calling Doctor Cuddy's office and giving you further instructions. You are going to answer the phone. If I don't see you, Doctor Cuddy, and every employee who has ever worked for you in there when I call, Doctor Wilson's throat is going to be slit on broadcast throughout the entire building."

His blood ran cold through his entire body. He felt paralyzed.

_This is all a bad dream. Wake up, wake up, wake-_

"Six minutes, fifty seconds." The man spoke through House's frenzied thoughts. "Time's wasting, Doctor."

_Jesus. Jesus._

House dropped the phone and hurried toward the door as fast as he could, almost pushing his weight off of the cane to move forward faster.

He had no idea where any of the team members were.

He turned left out of the office, not even considering the elevator. He pushed right through the door into the stairwell and switched his cane to his left hand. He pushed off of the railing with his right hand without hesitating.

He flew downward, feet skimming stairs almost five at a time.

______________________________________________________________________________

Taub posed the syringe over the slide.

"Ejecting dye," he said.

Thirteen peered through the microscope as he emptied the liquid onto the cell sample. The moment the solution came in contact, it turned bright blue.

"Cool!" Kutner said wickedly, peering at it from behind Taub.

The other man gave him an annoyed look. "I don't see any air bubbles," he said, frowning. He squinted down at the slide. "Are they visible to you?"

She frowned too and rotated the magnification lenses. "I'm on 100x magnification now," she said. She shook her head in disconcertion. "Why isn't there-?"

The door to the lab banged open forcefully as she was speaking and all three of them jumped. House blew through the doorway like a bull elephant.

"Drop the slide and get into Cuddy's office," he ordered in a hard voice. "Right now."

They looked at their boss in surprise at both the unexpected violent entrance and his tone of voice. He sounded like he was giving them a bomb threat. The words were barely out before he was striding toward them angrily.

Thirteen made a small sound of shock when House shoved the microscope out from underneath her. The expensive instrument crashed loudly over onto its side and the slide contents spilled all over the table.

"I said **NOW**!" he yelled furiously, eyes blazing.

Their expressions quickly morphed into awed fear at the deadly look on his face. Kutner was the first to move, shooting over to the door without looking back. The others quickly did the same in shock when they saw House's fists clenching and he almost mowed them down as he followed them out.

"WHERE THE HELL IS FOREMAN?"

House continued to bellow while stepping through the doorway and looking down the halls maniacally. Shocked chills ran down Taub's spine as he hurried toward the lobby with the others. The man sounded like some kind of **demon**.

House stalked frantically down the hallway feeling like he was being choked. Time ticked away in his head with sickened rhythm

_Five minutes and eighteen seconds…five minutes and eighteen seconds…_

He whipped his head into every room he passed, not caring about the startled responses from the patients in them, and grew more panicked with each step.

_Fuck fuck __**fuck **__where the __**FUCK **__is-_

In a sudden startling flash, Foreman crossed through the end of the wing several hundred feet away heading toward a different side.

House's heart stuttered. He quickly threw his cane down onto the floor as hard as he could, cupping his hands around his mouth even as the slam echoed down the hall.

"**HEY!" **he barked.

______________________________________________________________________________

The boy tried to stifle his groan by clenching his teeth and Cameron winced sympathetically.

"Almost done," she said reassuringly. She continued carefully fishing the small gravel rocks out of the bleeding gash in his left arm as she spoke. "Only a few more."

His mother stood on the other side of the bed letting him squeeze her hand. "That new helmet really did its job," she said good-naturedly. "Not too sure about that skateboard, though." She looked at Cameron and winked. "I still say they have a mind of their own."

Cameron smiled as she picked one more rock out. "There," she said, setting the tweezers down. She gently patted the wound down with a soft cloth. "I'll bandage this up and you'll be-"

She was interrupted by the curtain swishing open abruptly. The mother and son both jumped. She looked over her shoulder and then rolled her eyes when she saw House striding toward them.

"The curtain is there for a reason, you know," she said, turning back to the boy and continuing as if the interruption was a natural part of her day. "You'll have to wai-"

Her words were cut off again but this time because she was startled. House had clamped his hand around her wrist and prevented her from moving, gripping firmly but not hard enough to hurt. She started to speak and was shocked into silence when she saw his face. He looked like he was a half second away from committing murder.

"Get into Cuddy's office," he ordered. His voice was low and intimidating and completely dead serious. "Someone else will finish this."

Her mouth opened immediately to snap at him and the grip became painful before a word came out. She gasped in shock and House snatched his hand back as if being burned. He looked as surprised at what he had done as she did for a moment. Then the look was quickly gone.

"**Cameron**," he said stonily. "I said go. **Now**."

He turned back around before she could say a word. She opened and closed her mouth a few times.

"Where's Chase?" he yelled from a distance.

She was already moving after him without thinking about it, confused and alarmed. "He's scrubbing-" she began to say as she went past the curtain.

She couldn't even finish her sentence. He was already out of sight.

______________________________________________________________________________

Seeing House's team entering her office wearing expressions of uncertainty immediately raised red flags. Cuddy regarded them dreadfully. She could imagine what House had done now.

"What did he do?" she said as soon as they came through the door.

The three of them seemed puzzled.

"House told us to come here," Thirteen said. She sounded as apprehensive as Cuddy felt. "He said it was urgent."

Cuddy's brows shot. Movement caught her eye and she tilted her head up to look behind them. Foreman was coming toward the doors. Confusion crossed his face when he saw the other doctors. He glanced from them to her.

"What-?" he began.

"Look," she said in irritation. She had too much to do to indulge in whatever crazy scheme House might have instructed them to complete. "Tell House that sending you guys in as foils to distract me from whatever mess he's created-"

"Come on, get in. Get in."

House's voice was heard from outside. She narrowed her eyes in annoyance but then was completely appalled when she saw outside the window. Cameron was making her way inside with Chase a few steps behind, wearing complete surgical scrubs and a pissed off look while House dogged his heels and snapped at them.

She stood up before they reached the door and glared. The phone rang on her desk as Chase and Cameron were filing in and House was pushing his way through the others already congregated around the entrance.

"House," she seethed, reaching for it without taking her smoldering eyes from him. "You-"

"**DON'T**!" House yelled before she touched it, deeply enough to make her jump and shock them all into silence. He was stalking toward her with the darkest look on his face that she had ever seen. "Don't touch it."

Greg House had been powerful and intimidating since the moment Cuddy had met him. That hadn't changed when he had become crippled. Even when barely able to walk, the man was a physical force to be reckoned with. She had never felt threatened by him, though. Even when they were at each other's throats, arguing in each other's faces, she never had any reason to actually fear him.

Seeing him right now made her afraid of him for the first time.

He looked ready…to kill.


	6. Chapter 6

_**House, MD**_** is the property of David Shore, Bad Hat Harry Productions, Heel and Toe Productions, and NBC Universal. I claim no ownership to any parts or characters.**

House reached across the desk and yanked the receiver up, ignoring Cuddy's startled look.

"Very **impressive**, Doctor House," the man said, obviously amused. "Quite honestly, I didn't believe you would be able to do it...you even have five seconds to spare. Nice work."

He clenched his teeth. "Tell me what you want," he growled, nearly cutting the man's words off.

There was a long pause. House was positive it was deliberate, a way of mocking the adrenaline rush of fear and anger that was shooting through him.

The man waited another moment before speaking. "I would watch the attitude if I were you, Doctor," he said coldly. "It certainly causes trouble, which you have obviously found out in the past."

House instinctively got ready to snipe and had to hold his tongue, squeezing the receiver hard.

"Put me on speaker."

______________________________________________________________________________

The pressure against his face abruptly disappeared but he couldn't tell if the person holding the gun was still there. His breath shook when he exhaled.

_House. They know House?_

_They know __**I**__ know House._

Wilson closed his eyes and struggled to breathe.

_It'll be okay. House knows. House will get help now. It'll be ok. _

His head was suddenly snagged backwards, making him jump hard. A choked yelp escaped when he was forced still and then hot breath was hissing against his flesh.

"You're going to die." Wilson whimpered when tape was pulled over his mouth again. "Hear me, you piece of shit?"

He choked with fear and flinched when the hand buried in his hair pulled harder. The end of the tape was ripped off and then the sinister voice seemed to get even louder in his ear.

"You're going to fucking **die. **You can count on that.**"**

Tears freed themselves again. His head was shoved forward again painfully and the hand released his hair.

Wilson heard footsteps around him. He cowered in the darkness and began to tremble. A loud slam made him jump again and then he heard nothing but silence.

He tugged against the ropes with shaking arms and sobbed.

_It's not going to be okay._

______________________________________________________________________________

The fellows looked at each other in mutual confusion as they listened to House on the phone. It was impossible to see his expression from where they stood behind him but if the tone he was using was any indication, the man was livid.

Chase's eyebrows rose hesitantly. From his experience he was able to decipher most all of House's moods by the way his voice sounded. All moods other than "dickhead," of course. **That** one was normal.

He couldn't remember the last time he had heard House sound this way, thought.

Or if he ever **had**.

______________________________________________________________________________

House pressed the speaker button before replacing the receiver.

"Doctor Cuddy."

She jumped in surprise at hearing her name. Her eyes flew to the phone with bewilderment.

"Turn the computer monitor so that it faces the front of the room," the male voice said over the line, "and then step out from behind the desk to stand with the others."

She immediately narrowed her eyes and looked at House threateningly. She seriously wondered if the man ever took a **break** from creating new elaborate techniques to make her life unpleasant.

"House," she said warningly. "I'm telling you-"

"Do it," House interrupted forcefully.

He was matching her glare for glare. House had never used physical intimidation before but at the moment it seemed like that was exactly what he was going for. He had stretched to his full height and was leaning one hand against the desk so that the muscles in his arms were visibly taut.

She hesitated.

"**GOD DAMN IT CUDDY!**"

He was roaring practically in his next breath and that **did** scare her, in the literal sense, because it made her jump from pure reflexive surprise. He reached into her personal space and grabbed the monitor like he was about it yank it off.

"Move," he ordered as he wrenched the screen to face him.

She had already begun making her way around the desk before he even said it. There was shock and dread building on more than one of the fellows' faces when she met their eyes. Cuddy stepped slightly beside Foreman without speaking.

The time to challenge and badger was gone. It was obvious to all of them now that something was going on that was definitely not right.

______________________________________________________________________________

He wasn't fazed by the sounds of surprise from the others when the screen lit up with a live recording of them inside the office. House glared directly at it this time to send the message that he **would not** allow this guy to waste time.

"Doctors," the man over the speaker phone said grandly. "Let me take the opportunity to welcome everyone. Doctor House and I have already been acquainted, so how about we get right down to business."

"Stop playing **games,**" he demanded sharply. He stepped up closer to the screen threateningly. "Tell me what you want."

"Ah…see, that's where the problems seem to lie, Doctor House," the man replied.

He definitely wasn't amused now. His pitch had turned dark so rapidly that it almost sent chills down House's spine.

"Everything is a game to you," he went on. "You go about freely shaking up other people's lives with gleeful abandon because nothing matters except winning, being first. Being **best**." He began addressing everyone then. "As all of you undoubtedly already know, Doctor House's games always wind up hurting those around him more than they actually do him."

The screen blacked out abruptly and their images disappeared.

"However," the man continued. "What is more disturbing seems to be the fact that all of you have started practicing this philosophy along with him. It is obvious that direct punishment can have no effect on someone as selfish and repugnant as Doctor House and I've seen how all of you have begun following in that path. That's why we've implemented a decidedly…different approach to get our message across."

The sight that appeared when the screen changed hit House right in the chest, as real as if a concrete cinderblock had just been shoved against him.

Wilson was in the same position on his knees but was now gagged. There was nobody else visibly near him anymore. He was trying to move his hands around and couldn't budge them. Deep choking whines were emitting from his trapped mouth but just his face alone made it harrowingly obvious how unbearably terrified he was.

The pressure in House's chest was constricting his breath.

______________________________________________________________________________

Thirteen couldn't suppress a horrified gasp.

_What the- Holy shit holy shit holy __**shit**__! _

_Oh my god._

That was Doctor Wilson.

That…was **Doctor Wilson**.

Her eyes became the size of saucers and her stomach began to feel like it was full of lead.

Hadley had never had a close relationship with her family growing up and still didn't, despite the fact that they were still within distance in her hometown of Hoboken. She had been a "latchkey kid" since practically the day she was old enough to be left alone at home.

She certainly didn't consider anyone she worked with here to be as close as family. She didn't even really think of them as close friends. But (with the exception of House, because…**really**) she did try to get along with everyone and have good rapport. And truthfully, she had never had a problem working pleasantly with her colleagues.

Wilson was no exception. True, they weren't **colleagues,** and of course they would never be peers, but she knew him as well as she knew anyone else. He was around them practically as much as House was and she personally had had the tendency to seek his medical advisement on occasion when it seemed like going to House would be like poking a stick in a hornet's nest. She always felt better after talking to him. He was just as blunt as House was in telling her if she was making a mistake but always turned it into encouragement, suggesting possibilities of different approaches to her like they were equals instead of making her feel insignificant.

She knew that he wasn't always as nice as he seemed. She'd heard about his issues with infidelity during his marriages. Obviously he had a bastard side, because House was his best friend and there was no way he could **not** have a bastard side to him if that man sought his company. But she didn't believe in judging a person by imperfections. God knew **she** had plenty of them and it always stung when someone cast stones at **her **because of something she had done in the past.

The only side she'd ever seen of Wilson was what she was shown in interaction and she had never experienced anything but kindness. He was pleasant, he was generous, and he always looked out for them to make sure they didn't take anything House did to heart.

He was a great person in Hadley's book and if that made her naïve, well…there were worse things in life to be.

Seeing something like this being done to him was sickening. It made it hurt to breathe.

______________________________________________________________________________

House blew out a breath furiously.

"Look, I get it," he snarled, "I did something to piss you off. Fine." His teeth were locking together in fury as he spoke, making him hiss his words. "You got a problem with me, take it up with **me**. Be a man and **face **me, you shit-eating coward, but **don't** hurt my friend. Let Wilson go. There's no reason to involve him."

"Oh, you and I will dance," the man said coldly. "**Trust** me. But first you have some debts to pay."

Wilson's image abruptly disappeared from the screen. His heart stuttered when they were left staring at blackness. The man began addressing everyone.

"I came to this hospital because I kept having fainting spells," he said. "I went to two different doctors and then was admitted here because no one knew what was causing them. Everyone kept telling me 'Doctor House will solve this; Doctor House is renowned for solving medical mysteries.' Then I got put into a room and never saw him. Other doctors came in and out, saying that they worked for Doctor House but every time I asked where he was they said he was 'busy' working on the case."

The voice was affronted and angry through the speaker.

"They came in practically every twenty minutes to do another test and they were excruciating, more painful than anything I've felt in my entire life," he went on. "I asked repeatedly why it was necessary to do so many of them because it **hurt** and they just kept saying 'Doctor House knows what he's doing. We're sure we've figured it out.' I kept asking them to tell me what was wrong but they never told me. It was always 'just trust Doctor House.'

I was X-rayed, put under stress tests, numbed and endlessly pricked and two days later I was still in bed with no idea what was wrong and hadn't seen Doctor House once. I had to yell at them, demand that he come in before they finally went to get him," he said. "I sat there for half an hour before he showed up and the first words out of his mouth were that I must be the 'moron' who kept interrupting his lunch. I asked him why the tests weren't working and he just ignored me, came up to the bed, and jabbed the end of his cane hard into my chest. Said he was checking my reaction because I was faking, was probably so pathetic that I was pretending to faint to get a free pass out of my pathetic job.

He told me there was nothing wrong with me. He said that they all knew I was faking and they really didn't **have** to do all those tests, but they had wanted to see how long I thought I could snow them. He said that I was lucky he didn't admit me into Intensive Care for a week just to make me pay for an even longer stay in a more expensive room. He threw my clothes at me and said I was being discharged, then he walked out saying not to quit my day job to become an actor."

House had his eyebrows furrowed. He never remembered patients and there wasn't a day that passed when he didn't insult **someone**.

It didn't stop a sinking feeling from hollowing in his stomach.

"I've never been able to afford medical insurance," the man went on, "which you **knew** the moment you opened my file. But of course you had to flaunt your **power** by doing what you wanted to me regardless of how much it cost and knowing that I couldn't do anything about it if I wanted to fix whatever was wrong with me.

I was billed $250,000 for the two days I spent in your bloodsucking hospital. Of course I couldn't pay for it; I couldn't even **begin** to pay for it. I tried to make as close to the monthly payment as I could but it was never enough and each time more money got taken out of my account for the late fee. So now I'm $750,000 in the hole and still owing more and more with each passing month, and **you** are going to give me that money back. Every one of you."

He paused. House could hear nothing but stunned silence behind him.

"In two minutes, Doctor Cuddy will receive an email containing an account number," he went on. "You have 12 hours to get the money wired into that account. One half of the amount must be divided evenly among everyone except Doctor House. **You**, Doctor House, are going to pay the other half. An equal portion of payment must be transferred from each of you at the top of every hour for the first eleven hours, after which Doctor House must deliver the final payment in person at the location I provide at that time."

The computer screen came to life once more. They found themselves once again gaping at their own images.

"Every move you make is being watched," the man said coldly. "No one leaves this office and if I get even an inkling that someone tries to contact law enforcement, Doctor Wilson will be killed and his body dumped so far out of sight that not even the earthworms would be able to get to it."

The man spit his next words out bitingly. "Think of this…as a business deal," he said. "Or a **test**, if you'd like. I get my money and you get Doctor Wilson back. You fail to follow my instructions exactly as I have laid them out and he dies."

______________________________________________________________________________

His attempts to struggle free had been futile and as much as his brain was screaming at him not to, Wilson had given up.

His back muscles were aching fiercely from being forced into leaning forward even after he had scooted forward to relieve his arms of being stretched. The rope cut into his hands with every movement, rubbing against his skin to create a constant searing burn, and his legs were completely cold and numb beneath him.

His eyes stung with a vengeance. Once he'd started sobbing, it had been easy for the terror and despair to overwhelm him and he hadn't been able to stop until he was overpowered by exhaustion. He couldn't speak and could barely move anything above his waist, let alone his lower body. He was shrouded in blackness and couldn't have seen his hand in front of his face even if he had been able to move it.

Defeat eventually won. He knelt silently in the dark, occasionally assaulted by rebellious tears sneaking up past his throat, for what felt like years.

The unexpected loud bang made him jump out of his skin. A sudden flood of brightness made Wilson close his eyes painfully. He tried to open them but could see nothing but red spots and it hurt.

Three men were striding in from a door on the other side of the room he was in. He cowered down as they approached, instinctively beginning to shake. Two of them lumbered to stand over him and he gasped when they grabbed his shoulders roughly. He reflexively tried to struggle but they held him still.

The third man was crouching down to his eye level, his face an intimidating scowl of menace. Wilson recoiled fearfully back as the man reached for him.

Then his stomach dropped straight down and coherent thought disappeared when he realized that the man was aiming a long-needled syringe toward his neck.

______________________________________________________________________________

The screen changed without warning while the man was speaking and House's vision blurred. On the screen, three men were manhandling Wilson from his position on the ground and his friend was struggling, so terrified that it was palpable.

"You motherfucking-" His fists clenched and he took a step toward the desk. "Get your hands **off** of him! I'm going to-"

Then he froze in cold shock. His blood felt like ice in his veins.

One of them had pulled out a syringe and was moving it in Wilson's direction.

"Shit-!"

Someone swore from behind him but his senses had stopped and he couldn't register who it was. His brain was exploding at regular intervals in time with his heart.

_Fuck. Shit. SHIT….!_

Seeing Wilson's face twist up to look like he was screaming made him lose control.

"Stop it!" he roared. He grabbed the monitor with his hands again, shaking it. **"STOP IT-!"**

His air cut off painfully when the needle was jammed hard into Wilson's neck. Wilson's face went slack a second later and he pitched forward, the men letting go so that he slammed facedown onto the ground like a rock.

House felt like he was having a heart attack. He clutched the monitor frantically, his lungs pumping to keep air in his body, but the screen went black a minute later and he was left staring at his reflection in the glass.

"You have 60 minutes to complete the first transaction," the man said over the speaker. "Time to put your money where your mouths are, Doctors."

The cool, calculating tone was not lost on them. House swallowed, his hands falling away from the monitor.

"T-minus 12 hours and counting." The words sent chills up his spine. "Starting….now."

They were left listening to a dial tone.


	7. Chapter 7

_**House, MD**_** is the property of David Shore, Bad Hat Harry Productions, Heel and Toe Productions, and NBC Universal. I claim no ownership to any parts or characters.**

Cuddy's mind was reeling. Her hands shook by her sides but she wasn't aware of it.

_How…is…this…__**happening**__? _

Her brain was screaming it over and over, unable to stop gearing even through the horror surging inside of her.

She recognized Wilson's clothes. For some reason, that thought was flashing in her mind like a neon sign. She had seen him arriving that morning and he had been wearing those same clothes.

Her face wrinkled with trepidation.

He hadn't left.

She had in her office all day, she would have seen him if he had left…plus she had spoken to him on the phone from his office several times that morning because they were both working to get some of his patients into clinical trials.

_So that would mean_-

The blood suddenly drained from her face.

He had been taken from the hospital.

Wilson had been abducted from _inside the hospital._

_Oh, God. Oh…my God._

* * *

House had planted his hands on the desktop and was leaning forward on his arms, his head hanging down. He was panting like an animal.

"Fuck," he muttered breathlessly. "**Fuck**."

The others seemed to be frozen in silent shock behind him but they might as well have been invisible. He nattered on urgently to himself, pulling out his cell phone.

"Twelve hours. Christ," he muttered. "Twelve hours. That's…$31,250. Fuck, which bank, which bank-?"

He abruptly turned around, leveling a fiery stare at Cuddy. "What the fuck are you waiting for? Get on the computer and get the account number!" he barked. For her credit, she was already hurrying over behind the desk as he spoke. His glare switched to the others. "Unless you're planning to shit out $5,208.33 by the end of the hour, I'd suggest getting your asses on the **phone**!"

Though they shouldn't have been, the other fellows couldn't help feeling surprised when they saw that Foreman was the first one to rip his cell phone from his pocket without hesitation. They all quickly moved to follow suit.

No one questioned how House had come up with the amount so effortlessly.

Before House could finish dialing his bank an explosion of gunshots blasted out of the computer speakers. Cuddy leaped back away from the keyboard instinctively, heart stopping. He jumped and the phone flew from his hand. It skidded across the desktop and landed on the floor.

* * *

The world was spinning when he came back to awareness. His head throbbed as if it had been split open by an anvil.

A low moan traveled up his throat as Wilson eased his eyes open, feelings of grogginess and nausea flipping his stomach. He felt the tape over his mouth even before the sound tried to escape.

He was once again encased in total darkness and his equilibrium made it feel like he had just come out of a spin cycle. He felt his hands tied tightly behind his back and after a few experimental tugs realized that his ankles were bound together as well. A few more moments after that, he was able to deduce that he was lying on the ground.

His vision swam again and he closed his eyes. He felt too weak to move.

But then suddenly a series of gunshots thundered around him and he jumped. He tried to curl up to protect himself but couldn't make his muscles obey.

There was no way to tell where the sound was coming from. It just got louder and louder and he screamed out in terror.

* * *

The entire room seemed to stop. Everyone froze. Even House, the one most likely to do something just because he was told not to, was still.

Chase felt his stomach jump up to his throat at the sound of the shots. Hearing muffled cries in the midst of them made his swallow hard.

House's sudden movement made him jump for real. Before they knew it he had his face almost flat against the black computer screen. He was glaring into it as if someone was facing off with him, his expression murderous.

"Mother FUCKER!" he bellowed. "STOP! GOD DAMN YOU…STOP IT RIGHT NOW!"

He was shaking. House's hands were actually **shaking** as he gripped the screen again.

Chase swallowed hard.

The gunshots stopped but the screaming didn't. The disturbingly recognizable voice that came through the speaker phone was unfazed. "No one move. Stay where you are and show me your hands." Unmistakable coldness dripped from the man's words. "**Now**."

Chase froze with his hand halfway out of his pocket. He lifted his free hand out in front of him as he slowly dropped the phone and brought the other out of his pocket.

"Empty out your pockets one hand at a time," the man went on. "Starting with you, Doctor Cuddy. All of you who have a cell phone, place it on top of the desk."

House looked like he was about to spontaneously combust, but didn't move his hands from where he had them pressed palm-down on the desktop. He got more agitated as each one of them placed a different mobile device on the desk in front of him.

Cameron had a scared expression on her face as she pulled out her phone and quickly dropped it with the others.

"What the hell are you playing at, huh?" House burst out angrily. "How are we supposed to get the money if we **don't have phones**?" He was breathing so harshly that it sounded like he was snarling. "You mother-"

_**BLAMBLAMBLAM!**_

Three more shots rang out in succession and Chase cringed reflexively.

"Insult me again." The man was cold and challenging and he stopped speaking for a full minute on purpose, forcing them to listen to the terrified sobs in the background. "Go ahead, Doctor House. Open your mouth one more time and see if I don't blow your sorry friend's brains out right now, you arrogant son of a bitch. I **dare** you."

House looked like he wanted to spit fire. But he didn't speak again.

"Now," the man said, satisfied that he had everyone's attention. "The **only** phone you are going to use is this one. I have programmed the line out and have voice monitoring in place. Each of you will dial a bank and complete a transaction in the time I previously specified. We will be listening to every word exchanged as well as tracking the keypad to make sure no other numbers are dialed."

He paused to let the words sink in.

"Feel free to test me on this, if you think we're not watching," he went on. "You now have 48 minutes…or rather, **he **now has 48 minutes. Use them as you wish, doctors."

Chase couldn't bear it. When the room became silent again, he didn't bother looking around at anyone because he knew their expressions would all mirror the same desperation that he felt.

Without preamble, he stepped around the desk and reached right over where House sat in the desk chair.

He pulled the phone closer to himself and picked up the receiver, dialing seven numbers. When he glanced up, he saw Cameron looking at him with anxiety on her face. He pointedly looked away again.

"Yes," he said the moment someone answered. His heart began to thunder. "Yes, I'd like to make a wire transfer." He looked around the desktop a little frantically. "Um...input to-to-"

House snatched up the slip of paper that Cuddy had scrawled the man's bank information and thrust it at Chase. The younger man looked at him with something in his expression that House didn't want to acknowledge. Instead, he quickly got to his feet and moved away from the desk.

"Yes, that's correct," Chase continued. "$5,208.33…"

* * *

House was pacing, moving back and forth in front of the door like a caged animal. Panic radiated around him like a shield as he kept his eyes pinned on Cuddy.

"I understand, yes-"

Cuddy was trying to keep the desperation from her voice but knew she was failing miserably. Her heart hammered when the bank teller put her on hold.

His grip on his cane was making his knuckles white and his leg was **killing **him. But he couldn't stop moving. He looked down at his watch again.

Two minutes. They had **two** minutes and Cuddy was on hold. She was the last one to make a transfer and she was on **hold**.

He swallowed hard, feeling like he was going to vomit.

_Fuck. Oh, fuck._

What were the last words he had said to Wilson?

"Oh-yes…" Cuddy's voice jumped when someone abruptly returned to the line. "Uh-huh-"

Why had he always been so afraid to tell Wilson how much he valued their friendship?

His breathing became short and audible. From where the others were clustered a few feet away, he could see Cameron turning pale.

House's eyes shot back to his watch and he closed his eyes.

"Got it!"

Cuddy's exclamation was winded. His eyes popped open. She sagged against the desk with the receiver in her hand.

"I got it," she repeated shakily. "It went through."

House let out a breath, leaning against his cane.

Not two seconds later, the phone rang. Cuddy looked at the phone she still held and then pressed the speaker button, laying the receiver down on the desk.

"Nicely done." House automatically felt himself sneering at the voice that filled the room. "It's good to see everyone knows their place. We'll see how long you can keep it up. See you in an hour."

He clenched his teeth and hung his head slightly when the man hung up. He heard a sigh of defeat from someone but didn't look to see who. Somber silence filled the room again.

Then he abruptly snapped his head back up.

Cameron noticed immediately, her eyes shooting towards his back. Everyone else reacted to her movement by doing the same.

Kutner swallowed.

"What-?" he ventured softly.

House halted him quickly by throwing his hand up in the air. He seemed to be looking at nothing but his eyes were narrowed with intense focus.

After a moment they realized what was going on.

The man on the phone had stopped speaking, but he hadn't actually hung up. The phone line was still open. They could hear the barely-there buzz of dead air.

No one seemed to breathe. They were all listening even though they didn't know what they were listening for.

* * *

Wilson was so tense that it felt like his muscles were going to snap but he was unable to stop shaking. He swallowed and felt his mouth quivering underneath the tape.

He was terrified of hearing the gunshots again. They had seemed to come from everywhere. The thought of what it would feel like when a bullet ripped through his flesh made his blood run cold and his stomach heave.

He was trying hard to keep some composure but the longer he laid there alone in the dark, the more his fear built up. At first he had attempted to suck back the tears. But that had only lasted a few moments and then he couldn't do it anymore.

The only time any of the men had spoken to him had been when he was being forced to recite what he had been told over the phone. He knew that House had been on the other end listening but they had pulled him away the moment he finished saying the words and he hadn't been able to hear anything.

Hope was struggling to remain intact. Rescue was going to come. He just had to hold on. But it was losing the battle against a feeling of agonizing heartache.

He was scared. He wanted to go home. And he wanted more than anything to just hear his best friend's voice again.

A sudden slam jolted him hard. His body jumped painfully and his heart stopped with surprise. Then it sped up immediately with adrenaline.

Completely alert now, Wilson struggled to control his breathing in attempt to listen around the sound of his pulse thudding in his ears.

There was nothing. It was completely silent. But it brought no relief. It just made him tenser. He swallowed, straining to hear any kind of noise to pinpoint if someone was near him.

Before he could process another thought hands were suddenly gripping his arms tightly. A startled yell flew from his mouth, coming out like a squeak behind the gag.

He immediately resisted and tried to squirm away. More hands just added weight to pin him down. Realizing he was helpless, Wilson started to whine desperately.

"DO YOU WANT TO DIE, ASSHOLE?"

Someone was shouting, inches from his face. The volume and sheer malice in the voice made him cringe away instinctively and tears built up immediately when he was forced still.

"DO YOU?" the man said again. "**HUH**?"

He yelped when a hand abruptly squeezed his throat and pulled his head forward. Then suddenly hot breath was in his ear.

"What do you think?" the person whispered. "Should you die slowly, Doctor Wilson?"

The hand began to steadily tighten and cut off his air supply. Wilson sucked in a pained gasp, squeezing his eyes shut. The tears slipped down his cheeks.

_Here it comes_, he thought in a panic, _Oh, God, they're going to kill me now-_

He was dimly aware of another hand cradling the back of his head as his vision began to blur.

"Or maybe…" Air returned in a rush when the grip suddenly went slack. The hand still remained in place. "Maybe I should just break your neck right now."

The feeling of the hand shifting behind his head to press against his skull made him see spots. He could taste stomach acid pushing its way up through his throat and his brain seemed to stop.

"I'd just press down…right here," the man went on, voice sounding almost seductive as fingers lightly tickled his neck. Wilson didn't realize he was shaking until he felt his fingers trembling behind his back. "Leave you to do nothing but piss and shit for the rest of your pathetic life, what do you think about that? Hmm?"

The fingers repositioned themselves firmly on both sides of his head. Wilson whimpered tearfully. The breath left his ear and for a minute, there was nothing but silence.

Then the hands twisted hard in opposite directions to snap his spine.

He screamed. And screamed.

And screamed.

* * *

Taub was the first to jump when the shouting started. Matching expressions of shock were mirrored on all of their faces.

Except for House. He made sure that he wasn't facing any of them so that they wouldn't have a chance to see his.

"DO YOU WANT TO DIE ASSHOLE? DO YOU? HUH?"

The screen was still black in front of them but it made no difference. His stomach ached as he listened to Wilson screaming. This time Wilson was screaming so hard that he could hear the sound of faint straining and knew that it wouldn't take long for Wilson's voice to give in if it lasted much longer.

He wondered if that's what they were aiming towards.

His footsteps suddenly felt weighted as he made his way over toward the office door without a word. He could feel the stares of the others at his back and ignored them.

Deep despair seemed to take over his entire body and this time House allowed it. He slumped onto Cuddy's couch and dropped his head heavily into his hands. ________________________________________________________________________

Jeff Bailey tipped the rolling chair back a bit further and propped his feet up on the edge of the desk while he looked up at the small television mounted in the corner of the wall.

He made another sweep of the closed circuit camera system to make sure there were no changes as the evening news began. He propped his head up on the backs of his hands and returned his attention to the show. The chair squeaked as he leaned back and echoed annoyingly around the otherwise empty security office.

Ten minutes later, his cell phone rang. Bailey scooted a little further away from the desk using his legs without dropping his feet and unclipped the cell phone from his belt. He answered it with his eyes still fixed on the television.

"Busy night tonight?" his wife, Judy, asked from the other end.

"No," Jeff replied. "Not tonight. It's been quiet since I've been here." He scanned each of the eight camera screens again as he spoke. "Paul's off, so it's just me here tonight."

"Huh." His wife made a small noise of slight confusion. "I would have thought the hospital was having a telethon, you've been on the phone so long. Been talking to your girlfriend?" Her voice was teasing.

His forehead crinkled. "What are you talking about?" he said. "I haven't been on the phone. This phone?"

"No, your work phone," she replied. "I've called four times in the last hour and half and it was busy every time. That's why I called your cell."

"Huh?" That didn't make any sense. He was the only one who had been in the office since the start of his shift at 4 pm and he hadn't called anyone. He moved his gaze over to the switchboard. "When's the last time you called the office?"

"Ten minutes ago," she replied. "I was going to…."

Her words tuned out in his ear as she continued talking, his focus suddenly centered on this anomaly. All of the phone lines in the hospital were lit up normally indicating no problems. None of them were shown as being in use at the moment.

Including the one for the security office.

"What?" he said aloud when he noticed. That wasn't right. Why would it be show the line as not being in use?

"I said-" Judy began, responding to his word.

Bailey's mind was already trying to solve the problem. "Honey," he interrupted without even listening to her. "I'll have to call you back in a minute."

He hung up quickly and stared at the switchboard lights for a minute. He thought a second, and then dialed the number for the office on the cell phone.

Sure enough, he received a busy signal. He checked to be sure the receiver was hung up all the way and then redialed. Still a busy signal.

He dialed the number for the nurses' station. Busy. He dialed the clinic. Busy. He dialed random room number 405. Busy.

Perturbed, Jeff dialed a fourth number on his cell.

"Williams," he greeted when the hospital technician answered. "I need you to come up here to the security office. We've got a major problem with the phones."

* * *

"Huh."

Maintenance technician Fred Williams was puzzled as he manipulated the control switches for the individual phone lines. The one he was currently testing did nothing but buzz dead air every time he moved the sensitivity level, even when he moved it to the highest setting that should have been capable of picking up a frequency from an anthill five states away if there was one.

"That's weird," he said. "There shouldn't be dead air at this range." He looked back up at the security guard. "Did you mess with any of the settings? Volume, ringtone, anything like that?"

Bailey held his hands up defensively. "I don't know how to do any of that shit," he said. "I haven't touched the thing."

Williams crouched down to eye level of the desk and leaned over the opened switchboard panel. He scanned the wires and connectors with a trained eye. After a moment, he saw something.

"Oh, wait," he said, moving his hand. "I see the problem." He motioned with his fingers toward a digital screen near the top of the panel. "The controls are set to manual override. That makes the lines disconnect from each other so that they can be set individually."

He stood straight. "Give me a minute and I'll get it back to the way it's supposed to be," he said, moving to the computer. "Someone must have forgotten to turn it back on after checking the power."

Williams keyed in the administrative password and logged into the control panel system. His eyebrows rose when he saw that the settings had all been changed. "Man," he complained, clicking each one back to its original setting. "These are **all** dorked up." He shook his head as he continued. "Something must have-"

His words were drowned out when they got a rude shock of noise abruptly blasted from the open phone lines as they reconnected. They both jumped. Forgetting that he had left the one line on its highest setting, now it was transmitting loudly and unfiltered everything within range.

"Ah," Williams said, grimacing through the noise. He leaned toward the switchboard to turn down the line sensitivity for the one he had changed. "Sor-"

"Hold it."

Bailey's voice suddenly hardened into a command. He held up his hand to halt the man's progress. Williams looked at him, confused, while he stood still with a focused look on his face. They remained that way for a few seconds.

"What line is that?" Bailey asked, his tone unchanged. He suddenly seemed to notice the technician still there and gestured impatiently toward the switchboard. "Do that thing with the control that you did before but **don't **turn it all the way off…make the sound clearer."

Perplexed, William's nevertheless complied, moving the sensitivity settings slowly down on the phone line and looking to Bailey for confirmation.

"There," Bailey quickly said. "Leave it there."

The moment the man spoke, Williams heard what the other man was listening for. Seeing Williams' eyes widen, Bailey quickly gestured him to be silent. The two men stood still and listened, Williams feeling his heart racing.

"DO YOU WANT TO DIE ASSHOLE? DO YOU? HUH?"

Intense loud shouting was immediately followed by the sound of a man screaming. The technician couldn't stop a whoosh of shocked air from escaping.

"Holy-" he began to say.

The security guard instantly tugged his cell phone back off of his waist, ignoring the other man, and dialed the Princeton Police Department.


	8. Chapter 8

_**House, MD**_** is the property of David Shore, Bad Hat Harry Productions, Heel and Toe Productions, and NBC Universal. I claim no ownership to any parts or characters.**

**Please forgive the fact that it has been a dreadfully long time since this story has seen life. The real world has been unbearable these past months. **

It took a few gulps of breaths for Wilson to realize that he was still breathing.

Still living.

Still existing.

He became aware of fading laughter echoing around him and the sound of a door slamming again. For a moment, the only sound he heard was his own heartbeat in his ears.

* * *

Foreman exhaled. "Thank you," he said lowly as the transfer was made.

He hung up the phone and immediately moved aside as Cameron stepped over to the phone. Her eyes flickered over towards the door of their own accord again as they had several times in the last half hour.

Seeing the direction of her gaze, Chase shook his head quickly at her in attempt to force her focus back on task. She shook herself and began dialing the number that was starting to become familiar.

Across the room, House hadn't moved from his assumed position on Cuddy's couch. He sat with his cane between his knees and stared at the floor.

* * *

Officer Steve Harden stood beside the security desk and listened in shock to the feedback coming from the switchboard.

Dispatch had radioed in a report of "criminal mischief" in his sector and sent him to Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital with no other details. He'd been expecting something like a pulled fire alarm or rigged sprinkler system, so he'd been surprised when he came through the main entrance and was immediately met by man claiming to be a maintenance technician who told him there was something he needed to hear.

He'd been a cop for nearly six years now and had never come across anything like this before. For twenty-four minutes they had been standing there- him, the tech, and a hospital "Rent-A-Cop" who looked like he had an IQ of about 6 points- stunned into silence while the technician manipulated the tape speed to skip through the periods of phone inactivity so that they could listen to all of the communication that had been taking place for the last three hours on one of the hospital lines.

"Rent-A-Cop" had flinched every time they'd heard the victim screaming.

* * *

It felt like they had been standing there for a week.

Taub discreetly pulled the sleeve of his lab coat up off of his right wrist to check his watch. It was almost 8:30 pm. He couldn't remember what time it had been when they had all been shepherded into the office.

Then again, since he was about to make his third wire transfer of the night, it had to have been at least a few hours.

It was definitely a surreal situation, one that he definitely never would have thought he would ever end up being in. The whole thing still had the feeling of some bizarre, critically screwed-up plot contrivance of a scripted television drama. At least to him.

Of course he was never going to actually voice that little opinion.

For one thing, the image of Wilson that he had seen displayed on Cuddy's computer screen made it pretty clear that the whole thing was, while insanely hard to stomach, in fact very real.

And for another thing....he was pretty sure that if he said anything to the effect of that opinion House would quite possibly spawn another head and chew him up into little pieces.

Except to go to the phone for his turn at a transfer, House seemed to have permanently fixed his body into a heavy slump on Cuddy's couch and hadn't spoken a word to anyone. Taub had no doubt the man was surely in pain seeing as he hadn't been seen reaching for his pills once this entire time and he couldn't remember ever seeing his usually-agitating boss so quiet before.

The silence was just one more of the rare moods he'd seen exhibited from House that he'd thought impossible simply for the reason that they were so indicative of people who had actual…feelings. From what he'd experienced so far working under him, Taub had always been under the impression that House was really an alien imposter who didn't have emotions encoded in his mutated DNA.

The jury was still out on that possibility, according to him anyway, no matter what his wife might have said. Taub couldn't help the small wry smirk as he thought back to the many late-night conversations he'd had with her when he'd first joined the applicants thrust into House's pseudo-reality show employment competition. She'd always been under the impression that-

_Shit!_

Rachel would have been expecting him home at least an hour ago. He remembered her mentioning that morning before he left that she'd been in the mood for homemade Rigatoni and wanted him to pick up some pasta shells on his way home from work.

Thinking about his wife, something occurred to him then that he was surprised hadn't sooner.

The eight of them had been standing around Cuddy's office for hours. How was it that nobody outside of the doors seemed to notice anything peculiar about it? He was certain that, if nothing else, there had to have been something important that one of them was needed for during all this time that would make it noticeable that they were absent. He was sure that, if she hadn't already, his wife would definitely be trying to call him as time got later and she hadn't heard anything from him.

If they could just get someone to notice…surely there was a way to get help out of this situation if someone out there realized what was going on.

Taub sucked on his lip slightly in thought but made sure not to make it obvious.

* * *

The sound of the tape being clicked off after the end of the most recent period of phone activity echoed sharply when Williams stopped it. He turned to look Officer Harden without speaking, waiting for his instruction.

The look on the security guard's face made it clear that he was about to say something. But he seemed to change his mind at the last second and instead turned in the chair to look to the police officer as well.

The police officer took a breath and reached for his radio, speaking jargon into it that Williams should have understood seeing as he watched cop shows onto TV all the damn time but didn't and then switching to plain English with a tone that Williams understood perfectly as badly-concealed dread.

"Patch me through to Captain," the officer said.

* * *

The adrenaline surge left him shaking and exhausted. He didn't have the energy to move, so Wilson remained where he had sprawled, his left cheek pressed into the cold hard ground.

He jumped when the door clanged open again behind him and tensed.

"Sit up," a man's voice ordered from somewhere in the dark. Wilson swallowed, trying to pinpoint the man was and a second later was kicked in the side hard. He yelped in shock. "I said sit UP!"

Feebly, he struggled to maneuver his bound hands and feet but couldn't get enough leverage to move. Rough hands jerked him upright by the shoulders without warning, making him gasp, and then held him still.

He realized with shock after a moment that his hands were being untied. His heart sped up immediately, blood pumping through his veins in a sudden thrill. His brain immediately began shouting at him.

_Hit him. The second your hand is free…punch as hard as you can. _

"Do it."

It was as if someone was reading his thoughts. Wilson was startled to hear the second voice hissing in his ear from behind him as he was untied.

"Make a move," the voice went on coldly. "I dare you."

His brain kept urging him over and over. He could feel his skin crawling with the sensation to obey.

But it couldn't overpower the fear holding him completely immobile. He recalled the feeling of a gun in his face and hands around his neck, the sickening acidic taste on his tongue when he braced himself for death.

His hands were yanked up and his arms forced to follow. They were laughing at him as they bound his hands together again, this time with something that bit painfully into his skin.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," the same man taunted. "You pussy." A particularly rough wrenching of a knot as they bound him made Wilson whimper in agony. "Nothing but a pussy."

The hands fell away and he was left sitting upright with his hands tied up above his head. The position instantly sent shards of fire down his spine from the ramrod straight way it was being stretched. He winced and began slouching to ease it.

The moment he did, the sharp material binding his hands cut into his wrists like razor blades. He couldn't see what it was, but if he had to guess he would have thought it felt like someone had twisted a metal coat hanger around his flesh and it hurt so badly that tears of pain sprang to his eyes.

Gasping, he straightened again, easing the pressure cutting into his hands but making his back and arms protest once more. He moaned as the pain in his back made it difficult to breathe.

They had done this on purpose. He knew they had. He would have no choice but to sit stiffly so that his back cramped and his lungs burned if he wanted his hands to have any slack.

* * *

He was the last one up to complete the fourth transaction. But when Cuddy's turn ended and she stepped quickly out of the way of the desk, House didn't move. He didn't even look up from where he still sat on the couch.

"House," Cuddy prompted anxiously. Silence was the only reply and she raised her eyebrows incredulously when she realized he wasn't even looking at her. "**House**."

Nothing. He still didn't move.

He _couldn't_ move. He wondered how he had been still able to breathe all this time because it felt like there was a hole in his chest.

Wilson was dead. House was sickeningly certain of it. His best friend in the entire world, the person he had never been able to admit aloud that he cherished more than anything, was dead. And not just dead…_brutalized_ to death.

This wasn't about money. If it was _really_ about money, the target would've been equal to the price. The Dean of Medicine, Hospital Board members, hell, an entire _floor_ of doctors…the higher the value of hostages, the more ransom was guaranteed to be paid. This guy had only demanded money was because he _could_.

The sole purpose behind this was to get back at _him_ and this guy had known exactly where to pack the punch. House was cavalier enough about his own mortality, so threatening his life wouldn't have been worth much, and hell, even one of his _team _being targeted wouldn't have this amount of impact. Only threatening Wilson would bring him to his knees.

House was never good at identifying or expressing his emotions to begin with. The past hours had introduced him to a whole new spectrum of feelings that he had never in his life experienced before and suddenly it was too much. He couldn't take it. He just couldn't take anymore.

Cuddy said his name for a third time and he suddenly snapped, overcoming himself with the only feeling that he was familiar with.

Cameron couldn't help but jump in surprise when House suddenly roared, surging to his feet faster than she had ever seen him do before.

"Don't you **get** it?" he barked, glaring at Cuddy. He was leaning so hard on his cane as he strode toward the other woman that Cameron saw veins bulging in his wrist. His voice kept rising until he was screaming. "DON'T YOU FUCKING **GET IT**?"

He ended up so close to Cuddy that it looked like they were pressed against each other but he kept screaming, right in her face.

Cameron knew that her eyes were as wide as saucers and it felt like her heart was in her throat, but she couldn't help it…she'd heard the man yell before, but never like _this_.

* * *

Captain Aaron Spalding swallowed and tried not to let his nervousness show on his face as he stood with a team of officers inside a conference room of the Mercer County police station.

A hostage negotiator sat at the end of the table with a laptop, a web camera in place connecting them with the other police officer and security team inside Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. The negotiator raised his eyes up to look at Captain Spalding once more and nodded.

The captain swallowed again, sent a quick prayer up in his head, and then spoke into the radio in his left hand.

"Command to J-Mobile," he said. "Commence execution…now."

* * *

Three blocks from the hospital, a red SUV with a take-out sign perched atop the roof was idling next to the curb. Four plainclothes detectives from the Princeton Township Police Department sat inside, two of them canvassing the hospital with binoculars from the back tinted windows.

"Command to J-Mobile," the voice of the Captain said from the radio. "Commence execution…now."

A detective stepped out of the front passenger door dressed in jeans, a white t-shirt, and an unbuttoned green striped bowling jersey that hid the gun strapped to his side.. Holding a cardboard box full of small white cartons, he walked casually down the sidewalk towards the hospital entrance.

The small earpiece he wore was practically invisible in his right ear.

* * *

His chest was heaving with every breath and he thought that if not for the air rushing through his lungs with every bellow, he might believe he was having a heart attack.

Cuddy was standing perfectly still as he continued to yell right in her face. Her blue 'eyes were clear and unwavering, as if she was _humoring _him. And that just made him even more enraged.

"HE'S DEAD!" House screamed. "HE'S ALREADY FUCKING **DEAD**!"

Tears were building in his throat and he panicked, pushing Cuddy aside before they could spring into his eyes. He stalked over to the bookshelf and threw his hand out, sending knickknacks flying.

"IT DOESN'T MATTER **WHAT** WE DO!"

The crashes and thumps of random objects as he devastated the shelves did little to calm the tightness in his chest. Hearing a gasp from someone (_Cameron_, his mind sneered at him automatically) just angered him more. He grasped the wooden shelves in his hands, shaking them hard and continued to yell words that sounded like nonsense in his ears and struggling not to break down.

_Oh, God…oh God, __**Wilson**__…_

A series of sharp knocks on the office door interrupted him abruptly and he froze in shock, cutting himself off.

* * *

Cold, unadulterated glee took over the man's face as he watched House's tantrum from the computer screen.

House was breaking. It had only been four hours and he was already **breaking**.

Oh, this was going to be **so** perfect.

He raised his eyes up over the computer to gaze through the small window encased with thermal imaging glass, allowing him to see perfectly into the darkness inside the room. The doctor remained just where they had left him, strung up by his hands like a fucking puppet. He hadn't tried to call out one time, which was a shame really...he found it more fun to tape people's mouths shut when they were screaming.

He checked his watch and narrowed his eyes, pondering his options when he saw that it was only a few minutes until the end of the hour. The payment hadn't been completed before House had started going off. The man licked his lips excitedly and hoped that they would miss the deadline. He wouldn't kill Doctor Wilson over it, not yet…maybe just cut off a few of his fingers.

The man's gaze went back to the computer screen and he furrowed his brow warningly when he realized that all of the doctors had frozen in place. He turned the sound up on the monitor as looks of panic spread around their faces as one of the women's eyes flew toward the office door.

Someone was knocking on it.

The man yanked the microphone to his mouth quickly.

"Who is that?" he asked menacingly, instantly on alert.

* * *

"Who is that?"

Hearing the man's angry voice from the speaker phone made House whirl around toward the desk in a panic.

_Oh no…oh no, oh __**shit**__…._

His rage disappeared in a flash and was replaced by panic as it dawned on him what he had been doing.

God, what was he _thinking_? What time was it, shit…shit, he still had to finish the payment-

"You trying to do something **funny**? HUH?" The man was yelling at them now, sounding furious. "Don't move! DON'T MOVE, ANY OF YOU!"

Panicked, disbelieving expressions passed over the faces of the others in the office and House felt his heart speed up anxiously. The knocking sounded again on the office doors.

Surprisingly to House, Taub was the one to unexpectedly snarl.

"Look, you can't expect eight doctors to just disappear in the middle of the day without anyone noticing!" he snapped. Though he didn't move his body, he turned his head toward the desk. "It didn't occur to you during this brilliant scheme of yours that eventually one of us is going to be needed for something? We're standing around the Dean of Medicine's office, for God's sake!"

"Shut up, Taub," House said edgily.

Of course those thoughts had gone through his mind too, he was sure they'd _all_ thought about it since they'd been dragged in here. He'd already pissed this lunatic off enough; he certainly wasn't going to let any of his team add to it. Not when he had still had no idea what was happening to his best friend.

The shorter doctor threw him a look of exasperation but closed his mouth. For a moment, they stood listening to silence until suddenly the man spoke curtly.

"Doctor House, answer the door and stay inside," he ordered. "Tell whoever it is that you're all in a meeting and aren't to be disturbed. Make sure I hear every word."

Cuddy looked at him anxiously. He avoided her eyes and went slowly to the door.

A man stood on the other side holding a cardboard box. House opened the door and took a step back inside without speaking.

"Hello, sir," the man said cheerily. "Your order comes to $25.77, sir." House stared at him incredulously. Before he could say anything, the man shoved a small piece of cardboard towards him and a slip of paper. "We've been having some trouble with the online ordering system, I apologize…this should be two pints of white rice, an order of lo mein, and a pint of bourbon chicken, order placed this morning for delivery by…Doctor Lisa Cuddy."

House just continued staring at him, not speaking, trying to keep his composure. _Have to stay cool, act normal-_

His heart suddenly skipped a beat when he took a look at the receipt. A slew of random numbers were printed in standard restaurant font surrounding bold words:

POLICE HERE TO HELP. WILL GIVE INSTRUCTION THROUGH EARPIECE IN BOX. ACT CASUAL.

His eyes widened as he looked at the man in front of him again. The man nodded slightly with intent and House swallowed.

"Everything here?" the man went on.

House just barely managed not to jump. The man indicated the box in his hands with a slow glance and House slowly began poking around, touching the cartons. His hand immediately brushed against something small and round and he quickly took it between his fingers.

He swallowed again and then raised his hand to scratch his right ear, tucking the device quickly into it.

"Yep," he said, nodding. "Um…yeah…look, do me a favor, just drop it off at the nurses' station right there." He pointed behind the man. "We're actually in a meeting at the moment. Thanks."

"No problem," the man replied with a nod. "Have a nice day, sir."

He turned away and House closed the door, his hands shaking slightly. He exhaled shortly and then turned to face the others again.

Cuddy was looking at him with wide eyes. He deliberately stared at her icily daring her to speak. She wisely said nothing.

The tension in the air was palpable.

"Sorry." The man's voice came through the phone again. "Lunch will have to wait, Doctor Cuddy. Hope you don't mind."

She said nothing.

"Doctor House."

House started, his throat suddenly dry when the man addressed him again._ He saw it…oh, God, please don't-_

"I suggest you get over to the phone and get me the rest of my money," came the cold instruction. "That little interruption cost you five minutes…I'd get a move on it if I were you."

Inwardly shaking with relief, House limped past the others and back over to the desk. He placed the phone receiver up to his left ear and began dialing his bank.

"Doctor House." A quiet voice came into his other ear as he punched the buttons. "This is Officer Murray with the Princeton Township Police Department. Listen carefully and follow my instructions…everyone's going to get out of this safely, I give you my word on it."


	9. Chapter 9

_**House, MD**_** is the property of David Shore, Bad Hat Harry Productions, Heel and Toe Productions, and NBC Universal. I claim no ownership to any parts or characters.**

It only took about forty seconds for his hands to start tingling, but it wasn't until he felt his hands starting to become ice-cold with numbness that Wilson became panicked.

Despite his attempts not to think about it, his brain effortlessly supplied him with a memory from his residency rotations and watching the amputation of a man's foot that had permanently lost circulation due to diabetes.

Stark terror pumped through his veins as he imagined his own hands becoming the same awful gray as that foot. Swallowing hard, he began struggling against his bonds. The sharp metal dug into his flesh and his stomach ached with the strain of arching upright but he tried to ignore it. He pulled and twisted and when that produced nothing desperately attempted to get his fingers around the bindings just to loosen them a fraction. Frustrated curses and growling turned into unadulterated yells of anger as he worked his hands around but he still got nowhere.

His ribs began to burn. Panting and trembling, he swallowed hard against tears of anguish and allowed himself to sag downward.

Another hour passed and House was starting to go nuts again. The relief he had felt at realizing they were finally going to get help was fading fast.

So far, the police had been no help. The only thing they were telling him to do was to keep complying with the demand, keep paying the money. It was well into the evening by that point and they were still paying the psycho money.

It just didn't make sense.

Fearing for his sanity, House couldn't help but grow cold at the thought that perhaps the promise of help had all been a set-up too. Maybe it wasn't the police talking to him at all. How on earth would he know? He could be talking to one of those people.

"Tell him to prove Dr. Wilson is still alive."

He very nearly jumped, catching himself just in time as the voice suddenly prompted in his ear. His stunned silence seemed to be obvious.

"Tell him to show you that Dr. Wilson is alive," the officer continued in his ear. "Tell him you won't give him any more money until he proves it."

The hair on his arms stood up.

It had been five hours since the initial contact and they had only seen Wilson that one time. The last time they had heard him had been the few hours ago, when he had been screaming. Since then, there had been nothing but the man's voice over the phone and computer.

He had been lashing out and dying inside at the thought of Wilson being dead, but deep down inside he had been clinging to the hope that he was really just projecting, that he was really wrong. He didn't **really **believe Wilson was dead.

_Right?_

If Wilson **was **still alive, challenging the man like the police suggesting might set him off. It might set him off enough to do something horrible.

"Doctor House." The voice in his ear was firmer. "You need to trust me. Do it."

House took a deep breath and swallowed hard.

"Stop," he ordered.

He took a step toward the desk. Chase was on the phone, completing another transaction, and he looked at House with confusion as his voice abruptly cut off from speaking to the bank.

The others were looking at House in surprise too. He forced himself to keep moving toward the desk while his heartbeat pumped in his ears. To his credit, his hand didn't shake when he reached over and disconnected Chase's call.

Chase's eyes nearly bugged out of his head and he moved forward quickly to disengage House's hand. "What the-?" he began.

He held the button firmly so that Chase couldn't pry it away. Someone gasped and several voices spoke at once behind him.

"**House**!"

"Holy-"

"What are you doing?"

He didn't acknowledge any of them. He held steadfastly to the phone button and looked directly into the computer monitor with boldness that he didn't feel.

"Show me Wilson," he demanded. "Prove to me he's still alive." He swallowed. "You're not getting another penny until you prove to me he's still alive."

He refrained from cursing at the man, not wanting to make it worse. He silently waited for the man's reaction and prayed that he hadn't just signed his best friend's death warrant.

"You arrogant prick." The man wasted no time in responding. His voice was icy and furious. "You want him alive? **Keep giving me my money**."

"You want your money?" House mimicked the man unflinchingly. "Show him to me."

"Too late" the man snarled. He sounded angrier than he had the entire time. "He's dead. He's been dead for hours."

A part of House's heart froze.

"He's bluffing," the negotiator said into his ear, sounding completely confident. "He's too desperate to get the money. He's not going to do anything yet. Tell him you know he's lying."

The words were out of his mouth before he even thought about it. "You're lying," House said. "Show me Wilson. You're not getting another penny, I mean it."

There was a minute of silence. House swore he could hear a pin drop, it was so still in the office.

"Watch it, you scum fuck." The man's voice was hard over the computer. "Don't fucking test me."

Another few moments of silence.

And then the computer screen suddenly lit up and House found himself looking at the form of his best friend. Hands tied above his head, wetness all over his face, and very much alive.

He almost choked on his breath of relief. He was so preoccupied with trying to scrutinize every inch of Wilson, trying to see if he was wounded anywhere, that it completely startled him to hear the police again speak in his ear.

"Ask to talk to him," the negotiator instructed. "Don't demand it. Be respectful. He'll do it. He's already given in this much. He'll let you do it. "

House had a feeling that the instruction was being given for his own benefit and that it had nothing to do with the plan of rescue. But he didn't dream of questioning it.

A loud clang made him jump and snap his head around toward the noise. Footsteps approached in the darkness.

Wilson straightened involuntarily, his arms yanking painfully, and tensed with dread.

He jumped when he felt a hand on his face. Before he could brace himself, the tape was ripped away and he gasped at the sting of adhesive against sensitive skin.

"Talk," a gruff voice suddenly said next to his face, making him jump.

Something was pressed against his ear as he was trying to process what was happening…and then he heard the most wonderful sound of his life.

"Wilson?"

The voice that replied was strained, weak, and nothing like the Wilson he knew. And it made him feel like his heart was being ripped out.

Nothing like the feelings he knew.

"_House!" _

It was like a dam had broken. Before he could say another word, words were tumbling out of Wilson's mouth and he was begging, pleading, crying to go home.

House had to swallow before he could make himself speak.

"Hey…" He shook his head, forcing himself to focus. "Hey, buddy-" He stopped again and closed his eyes. "Don't cry. Please don't cry."

Next to the desk, Cuddy felt her eyes widen in horror and sympathy as they listened to House speaking over the phone. If she wasn't standing right there, she would never have believed the voice belonged to him.

"Wilson-listen to me, Wilson," he went on. His voice was gentler than he had ever heard it be before. "I promise you…I **promise** you, I'm coming to get you. I don't care what it takes. I swear to you I'm going to come get you out of there. So I need you to hang in there for me, buddy. Please, can you do that?"

There was no reply. The other end of the phone had been disconnected.

Gripping the receiver with tight fingers, House struggled to breathe through the fury and red-hot hatred towards the ones responsible for this entire mess.

His best friend should _never_ have to feel that much terror. _Ever_.

All it took was the recollection of that very first sob over the line a moment ago and he lost it. He threw the receiver as if it were a grenade, not caring where it landed or what it hit. Then he stalked away from the desk, nearly bowling Chase over without pausing, and proceeded to pound his fists into the wall beside Cuddy's bookcase.

By then, they all knew better than to say anything. As she watched her boss methodically pulverize the dry plaster not twenty feet from where she stood, Thirteen could only wince in sympathy when she saw blood starting to streak with every strike.

After a minute or two, he stopped. He pressed one hand against the ruined wall, lowered his head, and heaved a shuddering sigh that shook his whole body.

Then he straightened up and limped wordlessly back across the room to sit on the couch again to stare at the floor.

Thirteen shared a glance with Chase, who just gave a small shrug of helplessness and went back to Cuddy's desk to start his transaction over again.

The next three hours passed in slow monotony. No one had spoken a word outside of the bank transactions, save for one instance a while back when House had suddenly directed a question toward the computer asking if they could pay everything in a lump sum right then to get Wilson released. Their unknown assailant had viciously dismissed the idea and it seemed to have taken even more out of House, who hadn't moved off of the couch since.

With a barely restrained grimace, Kutner moved toward the wall and leaned against it to rest his aching muscles. He hadn't really thought about the strain it was causing to be standing for so long until his calves had suddenly made him rudely aware of it.

He couldn't help but notice House popping open his Vicodin bottle and downing two of the pills. It was the first time he had seen it done all day.

A bone-weary tiredness had seeped through him and Wilson finally succumbed to it. He slumped down and for the first time ignored the sting that it brought to his wrists. He didn't even care anymore about the fact that it was just his wrists that felt it by then and not his hands anymore, presumably because they had been numbed beyond the point of repair.

He'd thought that it couldn't get any worse. He'd been trying desperately to force hope that it would only have to get better because it couldn't _possibly_ get any worse.

And then they had dangled what he wanted so badly right in his face by letting him speak to House and he'd realized he had been wrong. Instead of the joy and relief that hearing his best friend should have brought to him, the call had only washed an overwhelming despair over his entire soul.

Because he had realized, with a sudden shocking clarity in the midst of it, that it would be the last time he ever heard that voice. He was going to die. There was no denying it. He was going to die.

He'd thought that he didn't have any energy left in him to do anything but sit there. He was so exhausted. His eyes were stinging with fatigue and his body was begging him to let go. But thinking about it then made tears spring to his eyes once again even though he'd thought he had none left in him.

He let them fall, rolling down his cheeks in steady rivulets. He didn't try to stop them.

He just didn't care anymore.

They were fading. It was easy to see.

Cameron and Thirteen had sunk down to the floor at some point and were leaning tiredly against the wall beside each other. Foreman and Chase stood near them, also leaning against the wall. Cuddy had taken her heels off.

Taub had drifted over to the couch while he had been occupied on the phone and was slumped in the spot that House had been using the whole time. He didn't have the strength to glare at the man for it.

Kutner was the only one who still seemed somewhat alert and it didn't come as a surprise to him. He had always sworn that Kutner had Attention Deficit Disorder and sometimes even thought it to be Hyperactive. It always seemed like that guy was on a constant caffeine buzz.

House knew he looked no better. He hadn't bothered to look at the clock the whole time, instead counting the hours with every transaction, but for some reason was compelled to look at the time on the screen of the phone as he finished his turn.

It was nearing one in the morning. They'd been in there for nine hours.

With exhaustion clouding his senses, House let his disbelief and incredulousness at the whole situation surface for the moment.

Nine hours they'd been standing there. _Nine hours_ and not _once_ had anyone in the whole hospital thought to look in on them or page them. The day shift had faded into the night shift smoothly as always and nothing had happened. Usually, he was lucky to make from the lobby to his office without being paged twice or accosted by someone wanting to bother him.

Not to mention the fact that they had all been steadily drawing an _obscene _amount of money from different accounts and the banks hadn't seemed alerted. He'd thought that at least _one_ of their accounts had become overdrawn or arisen suspicion somehow. But it hadn't.

And of course, the police, the Goddamned _police_ were literally in his head and being apprised of every move and _they_ hadn't done anything. There had been no dramatic rescue, no clever unveiling of a plan to foil the situation. All they had done was keep repeating the same damn fake assurances in his ear over and over.

"_We're doing all we can, Doctor House. Keep paying the money, Doctor House. We've got everything under control, Doctor House."_

Goddamn traitors. They were probably sitting around with their thumbs up their asses thinking that one more kidnapping case meant nothing in the scheme of the crime wave in Princeton.

House sighed and moved over to sit in Cuddy's chair behind the desk as she came up to the phone. He moved aside files carelessly with his elbow, scarcely glancing at them, and dropped his head into his propped up hand.

**PATIENT NAME: Watson, Gloria (aka Golden, Gloria (maiden name))**

A surge ran through House as violently as if he had electrocuted. His head shot up from his hand as his brain suddenly began churning in overdrive, supplying him with the memory of a few days prior.

_Wilson smiled at his fellow and invited her in with a wide gesture. "Just ignore Doctor House, Jacqueline. You're not interrupting at all. What can I do for you?"_

"_I-I was just coming to let you know that a transfer arrived today from Robert Wood Johnson University Hospital," she said. She came up beside his desk and held the file out to him, unable to keep from eyeing House apprehensively. "The referral is from Doctor Thomas Kearney."_

"_What's the patient's name?" Wilson asked. He had already bypassed the face sheet and was studying the treatment history from the other hospital as he spoke._

"_Um-Drake," she answered after a second's hesitation to remember. "Morgan Drake."_

His heart began to pound double-time. He remembered that strong sense of déjà-vu he'd had when he'd heard that patient's name, as if he'd heard it before. In fact, he would have _sworn_ he'd-

And at that moment, realization crashed into him like a sack of hammers and he felt physically ill.

He _had_ heard that name before and he hadn't recognized it then because it had been backwards. He'd never heard of Morgan Drake…but he _had _heard of Drake Morgan. He'd treated him, months ago.

Only…not so much _treated _him as _insulted _him. And…done everything else during his visit that the man had accused him of at the very beginning. The endless tests. The dismissal of his symptoms. The deliberately ordered overnight stay.

_I_, House thought to himself uneasily, _am the biggest __**idiot**__ in the face of all humanity._

It was all true. This whole thing had been done…had been done to _Wilson_…because of _him_.

Cuddy was startled when she went to hang up after her transaction and felt House almost shoving her out of his way. She gave a slight cry of indignation but moved quickly when she realized he wasn't paying attention.

"**Drake Morgan."**

The acidity on House's tongue was palpable as he stared into the black computer monitor. She was startled when she realized his hands were actually _shaking_.

"You mother fucking, bastard son of a Goddamned **bitch**," he continued venomously.

For a minute they all just stared at him in bewilderment. But then the man's voice came through clearly and they heard him laugh. _Laugh_.

"Well, it's **about time**," the man said gleefully. "I swear, Doctor House, you really **are** the brain-dead lowlife I thought you to be. I would have thought you'd have figured out who I was **long** before now."

As if fueled by the words, House suddenly seemed to explode with new energy. "I'm going to kill you, Morgan!" he raged. "I can promise you that, you spineless piece of shit. Before this is through, I'm going to rip you apart with my bare hands. You can **count** on that!"

The man just laughed again. "I look forward to it, Doctor," he said easily. "It won't be too much longer…a few more hours and you'll get your chance. Better get a good shot in, because I **will** murder you. And I'll smile doing it."

Then the man went silent and it was obvious he was gone.

Thirty miles away, Captain Spalding jumped to attention as if he hadn't been sitting there all night agonizing with his team over ending the hostage situation.

"Listen up!" he bellowed, effectively garnering the attention of the men with him. He pointed a finger at the closest group of officers to him. "Run a track on every record of the name Drake Morgan in Jersey, New York, and Delaware and see if anything comes up. Go further if you have to." The officers didn't immediately move and his nerves flared. "**NOW**!"

As the officers quickly dispersed, Spalding went over to where the negotiator sat and snatched the mouthpiece of the man's headset towards him without even warning the guy.

"Good work, Doctor House," he said urgently. "We've got his name…we'll find him. Keep up with it. We'll have him soon, just keep it up."

He moved the mouthpiece back to its original position and shared a wild-eyed look with the negotiator. He could feel the excitement in his bones.

He'd fallen asleep. God knows how he'd managed to do it, but his body had finally overpowered him and forced Wilson into unconsciousness.

So when the sudden clang exploded near him Wilson snapped awake as if shot out of a canon. Bright light assaulted him and hurt so badly to his desensitized eyes that he gasped. He screwed his eyes shut painfully against the stars swimming around his head and tried to grasp control of what was going on.

His arms had felt like they had become detached from so long in their position. As heavy footsteps sounded around him, his nerves were brutally awakened when his arms abruptly dropped from over his head to fall into his lap.

The realization that he had been cut free pricked into his awareness as he forced his eyes open once more. There were three men around him, manhandling him roughly while a fourth crouched right in front of him.

For the first time, Wilson was able to see and catalog every feature of the man's face. He was surprised at how _ordinary_ the man looked. Nevertheless, the cold malice in the man's features didn't make him look any less intimidating to Wilson.

"Hope you've enjoyed your stay with us, Doctor," he said with a menacing smile. "It's time to go now."

Wilson swallowed hard. The man had something between his hands, a cloth of some kind, and was wringing it between his fingers. He abruptly came forward and made Wilson shrink back instinctively, but the arms pinning hum from both sides prevented his movement. In a matter of seconds something was slipped over his head and then he was covered in darkness again.

_Blindfold_, Wilson thought numbly, as he was forced to stand. His legs protested from the cramped sitting position they had been in and he couldn't assist in his own movement as he felt himself being propelled into movement.

He heard hard ground beneath his feet. After a minute, a rush of cold air enveloped him and he trembled from the shock. He could tell then that they were outside.

He moved forward dizzily, allowing himself to be practically carried by the men. Hands pulled at him, hoisting him upward, and then he was thrown down onto a hard surface. He was dimly aware of the sound of an ignition and then he felt that they were moving.

The potential lead had been fruitless. The officers had only uncovered three individuals bearing any combination of the names Drake and Morgan, all of them in New Jersey, and none of them recovering what they had been so hopeful to find.

Captain Spalding had been busily formulating an alternate plan and made sure they were prepared for it. In thirty minutes, the kidnapper's deadline would come to an end. He had instructed Doctor House to comply with every demand in going to the meeting place. The earpiece they'd slipped him had a built-in tracking device. Wherever he was supposed to go, they were going to follow.

Once they got there, though…Captain Spalding couldn't help but fear the worst.

Nevertheless, he readied his officers with instruction and assembled every action carefully as the deadline drew nearer.

House swallowed as he hung up the phone.

The others around him were dead silent and the tension in the air seemed to increase tenfold in a matter of seconds.

"There," he murmured. "That's it. That's the last transaction."

"Listen carefully to what I tell you, Doctor House." The man's voice was clear and cutting through the speakerphone. "You are going to exit the office and walk straight out of the hospital entrance. A car will be waiting for you at the curb. You will be taken to the bank to withdraw the rest of the amount and then taken directly to me. I will give you instructions once you arrive."

There was a pause.

"I don't think I have to tell you what will happen if you try to screw this up, do I?" he went on.

House clenched his teeth but didn't allow his anger to show. "No," he only said.

"Good," the man replied. "Then you may begin. You have forty minutes, Doctor House."

The call disconnected with a click. House strode forward without looking at any of them and left the office. He headed quickly for the entrance, trying not to let his emotions take over his control.

"Doctor House!"

A woman's voice behind him made him start. A nurse, no doubt. His heart began to pound. Swallowing, House ignored her and quickened his pace.

He spotted the vehicle immediately once he was outside and made his way to it. Two men were in the front and driver's seats. The rear door was opened from the inside and a third man pointed a gun at him as he approached, ordering him to get in.

A blindfold was slipped over his face.

"Not a word, Doctor House," the man beside him commanded as the car began to move, poking him in the ribs with the gun. "Keep your mouth shut and this will go nice and easy."

House decided not to test him.

Immediately after House left, the phone rang.

The remaining doctors looked at each other nervously and no one moved. But as the phone continued to ring incessantly, Chase finally threw caution to the wind and picked it up quickly.

"Hello?" he asked uneasily.

"This is Captain Aaron Spalding, from the Mercer County Police Department," a deep voice informed him authoritatively. Chase immediately felt his heart clench with dread. "We are in the process of following Doctor House and will be-"

"No," Chase cut in a near panic. "No! He said no cops…Dear God, you can't-!"

"Easy," Captain Spalding said quickly. "Take it easy. We've been communicating with Doctor House for the past several hours and we've been aware of everything that has been taking place. We're not going to let anyone get hurt. You've got to trust me on that."

The shock of hearing that his boss had been in cahoots with the authorities all this time was at the forefront of his mind. Chase quickly forced it aside and continued to speak vehemently.

"Let us go with you," he practically demanded. "He's our **friend**…please, let us come with you."

"Absolutely **not**," the captain replied firmly. "I need you all to go about your normal business so as not to arouse suspicion."

Before he knew what he was doing, Chase found himself countering the man.

"Doctor Wilson may very well need medical help immediately," he said. "You need to have doctors **with **you, in case we need to treat him quickly." Sensing the man about to protest, he barreled on. "If you don't allow us with you, we're going to follow House ourselves. We **are** going to be there to help our friend, with or without your blessing."

_I must be out of my __**mind**_, Chase thought once the words had left his mouth. _Do the words "obstruction of justice" mean anything, idiot? You'll be lucky if you don't get arrested for this!_

The captain replied as if he was swallowing nails. "Alright," he said brusquely. "We'll allow two of you to accompany us. You **will** stay in the car and will absolutely, under **no circumstances**, interfere or I will have you arrested just as soon as we are finished. Is that perfectly clear?"

"Crystal clear, sir," Chase said quickly.

"Meet us outside," the captain said. "We'll be pulling up in thirty seconds."

Chase dropped the phone without a word. He sprinted towards the doors. "Foreman," he said over his shoulder. "Come on."

Foreman looked at him like he was crazy. "What?"

"Come **on**!" he yelled, already out of the office. "For once in your life, don't ask questions and just do it!"

Apprehension swirled in his gut. But Foreman shook his head and followed Chase, all the while swearing to himself that he was an even bigger idiot than House always said he was.

He made the withdrawal quickly from the ATM. At that hour of the morning, the parking lot was deserted, dashing any hopes that House may have had at the possibility of help even though he'd figured there wouldn't be any.

Once back inside the car, the blindfold had returned and they had continued on. It probably took no more than twenty minutes, but to House it felt like an eternity before they finally stopped.

He was pushed out of the car with the blindfold still on. He fumbled clumsily for his cane but was seized by the arm instead.

"Leave it," a brusque unfamiliar voice ordered next to him. "Walk."

So he was forced to hobble along with nothing but the support of the burly man holding him. His leg ached with a vengeance with every step but he said nothing about it.

_It could be a trick. They could be about to blow my brains out, execution-style._

He couldn't help but feel bile rise in his throat at the thought. They pulled him along, across gravelly pavement, and then suddenly they stopped. The blindfold was swiftly removed and the arms dropped away from him.

Blinking, House took in the surroundings. It was a public storage facility. Rows upon rows of storage lockers were all around him and there wasn't a soul around save for the two thugs.

His dread that he was about to be killed increased exponentially when he realized that.

"Doctor House."

He was unprepared for the voice coming up from behind him, but he recognized it. His stomach clenched angrily. He turned around.

He found himself face to face with a man that he dimly recognized and a gun being pointed directly at his chest.

"So," the man said with a smile, his gun aim unwavering. "Finally, we meet at last."


	10. Chapter 10

**_House, MD_**** is the property of David Shore, Bad Hat Harry Productions, Heel and Toe Productions, and NBC Universal. I claim no ownership to any parts or characters.**

Even though the threat of imminent death scared him, it took an immediate backseat to the feeling of hatred that swelled inside as House stared at the man in front of him.

The police had continued speaking in his ear while he was being driven blindly to the meeting spot. He knew that, at that very moment, there were police officers silently surrounding all sides of him and would be ambushing them at some point. The hostage negotiator had warned him expressly not to do anything to set this guy off before then.

He didn't realize how hard it would be to comply until that moment. His hands were twitching, _itching_, to beat the living shit out of the man standing before him.

House swallowed evenly and glared. "I've got your money," he said in a hard voice. "Now release Wilson."

Morgan just lifted a smug eyebrow.

"Let me see it," he said lazily.

House clenched his teeth. When he didn't immediately comply, one of the men standing at his side shoved his shoulder hard to compel him. He bit his tongue to keep from snapping at the man and instead opened up the envelope he held in one hand.

"You want to count it?" he spat out, unable to help it as he pulled the bills halfway out so that they were visible.

Morgan smiled like he was in on some kind of private joke. "I don't know," he said with amusement. "Do I need to?"

"Let. Wilson. **GO**," House demanded again. He flung the full envelope at the man's feet in disgust and his expression hardened dangerously. "Morgan….let him go right now or I swear to God I'll kill you."

Morgan bent and picked up the envelope. He took his time sorting through the numerous bills as he watched House seethe in front of him, clenching fists, and couldn't help but laugh.

As if he should be afraid of a _cripple_.

He shared a look with his two cohorts, grinned, and then said five simple words that proceeded to blow the entire operation into spectacular pieces.

"I don't think I will."

* * *

Sitting in the backseat of an empty police cruiser, having been banished under threat of arrest by the officers they accompanied if they so much as thought of opening the door, Foreman and Chase were nevertheless able to hear every word spoken outside due to the fact that House's hidden earpiece frequency had somehow been wired into the entire police radio system.

However, just because they had been witnesses to a side of House over the last several hours that neither of them had ever seen didn't mean that they thought the man had _changed_. Foreman, for one, at least pretty much knew with absolute certainty after working with House for so long that _nothing_ would ever truly change the personality of Gregory House.

So the moment that they heard the man refuse to release Wilson after House pretty much ordered him to, both of them felt their stomachs drop at the same time.

"**Shit**," he heard Chase swear softly beside him.

Foreman turned his head to see Chase mirroring his expression of dread. He knew that their thoughts had to have been on the same path. They _knew_ the man.

He hoped to God that the police knew what they were dealing with. House was about to become an atomic bomb.

* * *

Fortunately, Captain Spalding hadn't been promoted up the ranks three times in the last four years for being an idiot. He'd seen all he needed to see of Doctor House's volatile temper during the entire situation.

He'd hoped to wait at least until they had some idea of where Doctor Wilson was being kept before stepping in. But when he heard the mocking words of the kidnapper telling Doctor House he wasn't going to release his victim, he threw that plan out of his mind.

His men were startled when he abruptly turned to face them and cocked his gun from their position in the shadows flanking the storage garages to the left of the kidnapper but obeyed without a hitch when he made the order.

"Move, now! NOW!"

* * *

His entire cloud of vision turned red. House didn't even know what he was doing until he felt himself moving forward with his hands aimed at the throat of Drake Morgan. The fact that the man was still holding a gun seemed to slip his mind or perhaps hadn't even come into it.

How he managed not to get himself shot, he would never know. He heard the gun firing, so close to him, but it was like he was possessed. His hands found their mark and he reveled in the feeling of cold skin squeezed under his palms.

His hand was rough, desensitized from years of gripping the hard top of a cane, and his arm deceptively strong from being used to bearing his weight on a daily basis.

It was laughably simple. He had the person responsible for terrorizing Wilson literally in the palm of his hand. House snarled in each breath as he squeezed harder and harder.

_Stop his breath. He'll never be able to say another word to frighten anyone ever again. Break his neck. He'll never be able to look anyone in the eyes to scare them ever again. Bash his skull in. He'll never be able to-_

"Doctor! House! **House**!"

Someone was screaming into his ear next to him but he didn't spare his attention. Even so close to death, the man under his hands was smirking, _smirking_, damn him! It boiled his blood. The rage inside of him burned even more and he suddenly decided that he was going to reach for the man's gun. It was hanging uselessly by the man's side now.

He didn't even have time to move toward it. Another body abruptly slammed into his arms from the side, forcing itself between them and pushing him away so that he had to drop his grip on Morgan.

Enraged, House moved to raise his cane, intending to bash the person's skull in because, damn it, he wanted _blood_ now that he had been denied his vengeance. Then he sheepishly remembered that not only did he not _have_ the cane with him but that the person now manhandling Morgan was a police officer. He'd forgotten all about their plan in the midst of the opportunity to confront Morgan at last.

He stood still then and looked around him practically in a daze, taking in the chaos around him. Uniformed officers had swarmed their immediate area like a beehive and he could hear shouts and commands and the sounds of bodies hitting the ground.

The two men who had been accompanying House were now face-down on the asphalt with a few officers standing around them with guns aimed while others handcuffed them. Some officers were running away from them towards the other end of the storage yard.

"-to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to…"

The voice approaching him made House start and he shifted his gaze to see Drake Morgan, handcuffed and being held at the arms by two officers, one of them reciting the Miranda rights as they walked.

He turned fully to stare at them when they passed. His eyes found Morgan's and even while apprehended the fucker leveled an amused look back at him. As if he'd won. As if he knew a secret they didn't.

_Wilson_.

Amazed that it had even left his mind for that short time, House started abruptly and his focus cleared instantly. He could hear faint shouts and the sound of storage garages being lifted around them.

He knew what they were looking for.

An almost animalistic panic seized him then and he began striding through the remaining officers as fast as he could toward the sea of storage garages closest to them. He didn't make it three steps before an officer was in front of him, forcing him to stop by seizing hold of his arms, and he surprised himself when he felt his arms pushing against the resistance strongly enough to make the officer apply more pressure.

"Doctor-"

The officer looked like a sniveling pipsqueak the same age as Cameron to him and was foolish enough to try and _block his way _and _oh **hell**, no_-

"Doctor!" The officer sounded surprised when House began pushing his way past him like he wasn't even there. He managed to catch House's arm again before he could keep going and quickly began explaining. "Doctor, we're searching this entire place. I can't let you-"

House swiveled to face the officer again with a speed that surprised him and he saw the young man's face become surprised. If his expression anywhere near matched the amount of desperate fury inside of him, he could only imagine what he must have looked like.

"Get out of my way," he told the officer warningly. He paused a minute to let the threat in his voice register with the young man. "You are **not** going to stop me from trying to find my friend…if I have to break every one of your arms to do it, I swear to God I will. **Get out of my way**."

The officer stared at him for a long moment and in that time House was able to see the emotions flickering in his eyes toward him easily. He was expecting them. He cataloged each one as it came. Confusion, apprehension, hesitation, admiration-

But no pity. He was actually rather surprised at that. Maybe this guy wasn't as useless as he'd thought.

The officer shook his head with a sigh. "Damn it," he said ruefully. "Well, for God's sake…at least **try** not to break the arm of my Captain, at least. I don't want to have to explain **that** to him along with this."

House bit back a grin and just glared at him. The young man let go of House's arm and began hurrying in the same direction with him. House could see that he was itching to break into a run and was keeping pace with him out of courtesy. He shook his head.

"Go on," he said gruffly. "Get going. We don't have time to waste."

The police officer looked at him gratefully and tipped his head in thanks before darting forward quickly.

* * *

The moment that they heard the police taking action, Chase and Foreman shot out of the car.

Police officers were leading three handcuffed men towards a few police cruisers parked near the one they had been in. Before either of them could move forward, though, an older officer planted himself in their path.

"I think I told you gentlemen to remain in the car," he said sternly. "We've got a lot of chaos going on right now. The last thing I'm going to do is let you get in the way to get hurt or worse."

"Look," Foreman said resolutely, making Chase glance at him in surprise. "All we want to do is help our friend. The more people we have looking for him now, the better."

The stubborn tone of voice that the doctor used reminded Captain Spalding of the insolent Doctor House that they had been dealing with. He scowled slightly, but then relented and couldn't believe what he was allowing himself to do.

He made sure that he had both of the young doctors' eyes before speaking so that they would see that he was serious. "You will stay with the officers. Do not, for one **second**, think about going anywhere on your own and you will do exactly as they say. Have I made myself clear, Doctors?"

They both answered immediately in the affirmative. Captain Spalding rounded up a few officers who were getting ready to join the others in the search and gave them strict instructions to keep Chase and Foreman in their sight.

As the group hurried away, Spalding stood between the cars that the three men had been placed in. He had no intention of leaving until they found out where their hostage was.

* * *

Irrational, out of his mind with desperation, and frustrated when he realized that he wasn't going to be able to jump in to participate, House took to rebelliously moving on to the next storage garage each time the officers were occupied with opening one and yanking savagely on the lock as if the action would weaken it.

They weren't moving fast enough. Though he could see that a good portion of the storage garages had been opened already, there were even more that _hadn't _been and that meant that Wilson could still be trapped inside one of them. Which meant that after half a day of being at the mercy of savage kidnappers, now it was the very people responsible for his _rescue _prolonging his torture.

Just the thought of his friend still trapped somewhere around them, hearing people everywhere but not being found, sent an icy cold nausea through his stomach. God, he needed to find something to get the lock off, _anything_. He couldn't do a single thing to help cover more ground. He'd promised Wilson, _promised_ him that he was coming to get him out.

But stopping to find a tool of some kind to aid him meant that he would have to stop searching, if only for a few moments. And he had already put his best friend through the most horrifying ordeal of their lives. He would sooner go straight to Hell than spend _any_ length of time keeping Wilson in it.

So he continued doggedly yanking and pulling on the steel padlocks of each storage garage he came to. He didn't think about the fact that he was accomplishing nothing, didn't think about the possibility of Wilson not even _being_ there at all, didn't think about the time that kept passing with no success of finding his best friend.

He _wouldn't_ think about it.

Finally, someone had the presence of mind to retrieve his cane from the car he had been in with the assailants. He didn't even turn to acknowledge the person, just snatched the cane the moment that it came into his line of sight and began slamming the head against the padlock with renewed vigor.

* * *

Foreman started at the sudden clanging sound nearby. He couldn't help whirling around to see what it was, but his sensory memory immediately pinpointed the source even before he actually laid eyes on it.

He'd heard it before.

Two years ago, the night of the hospital's annual Oncology Benefit that had ended up becoming a glorified nonstop diagnostic witch hunt for an unknown disease that had killed one of House's former patients and was in the process of doing the same to a little boy. House had been at his most obstinate (at the time) and Foreman remembered the way the man had forced his way into the hospital café' by breaking the padlock with his cane.

House was doing the same thing now.

Foreman watched his boss beating his cane against the small padlock securing the door of one of the garages, wearing the same expression of crazed desperation that he'd worn for the duration of that case.

* * *

Chase stood back as one of the police officers snapped the padlock with bolt cutters and tried not to bounce around anxiously on the balls of his feet. They were on the third storage garage. Unable to help it, he felt negativity clouding his thoughts and found himself automatically assuming that there wasn't going to be any chance of finding Wilson in that one either.

His stomach dropped to his feet in shock when the officers began shining flashlights inside the space and came across the outline of a figure huddled on the floor.

_Holy **shit**._

His eyes widened in horror as officers immediately rushed inside, snapping orders and saying things that sounded like nonsense to him.

It was Wilson. From what little visibility he had around the swarm of police hurrying inside the garage, Chase saw that he was tied hand and foot, gagged, and blindfolded. The chaotic rush of voices blurred in his ears like a wave but Chase found himself glued to his spot.

Until he heard another kind of commotion that dropped his stomach to his feet.

"Relax, relax! We're the police, no one's going to hurt you!"

Peering around the officer blocking his way, Chase saw that Wilson was flailing and jerking as the officers tried to free him, making it impossible for them to keep hold of him to remove any of the bindings. Their attempts to reassure him were having the opposite effect, because the more they spoke the louder the sounds of panic became.

Without thinking twice, the younger doctorshoved his way through the officers into the garage. Someone immediately tried to stop him. He turned to face the officer with a murderous expression.

"Move," he snapped, not letting himself stop. "I'm a doctor."

The officer wisely complied. Chase hurried through the darkness, amazed that he could even see straight through the haze of adrenaline pulsating behind his eyelids. He skidded to his knees beside Wilson. The man was making keening sounds like a trapped animal, shaking his head from side to side anxiously.

He reached his arms out and gently took hold of the other man's shoulders, eliciting a frightened wail that made him wince.

"Wilson," he said quickly. "Wilson, it's Chase. It's Chase." He kept his grip soft on Wilson's shoulders. "It's okay. I'm not going to hurt you." He swallowed and hesitantly ventured on. "I'm going to take the blindfold off. It's okay."

Wilson was tense as a coiled spring under his hands, but went quiet as he began speaking. As quickly as he could, Chase pulled the fabric up over Wilson's head off of his face. Red-rimmed brown eyes blinked owlishly at him in the dark, looking terrified. When he recognized Chase, muffled pleas spilled out around the gag.

Unsure of what to do, the younger man awkwardly ran a hand over Wilson's forehead in attempt at comfort. "It's okay," he repeated. He delicately worked the tape off of Wilson's mouth and threw it to the side. "We're going to get you out of here now."

Wilson took a gasping breath once the tape was removed like a man drowning.

"House," he said hoarsely. He sounded delirious. Chase heard tears in his voice as he whimpered the name again. "House."

"It's alright," Chase said thickly, swallowing hard. Hearing the man's voice sound like that was like a punch to the gut. "House is here. You'll see him as soon as we get you out of here. I promise."

He was relieved to see that Wilson appeared a little bit calmer. Well, maybe _calmer _wasn't the right word, because he still looked scared to death, but at least he was no longer struggling. Encouraged, Chase slowly moved his hands toward where Wilson's hands were bound.

Sensing movement above him, Chase look over his shoulder and saw some officers motioning towards them with a small knife. He nodded.

Wilson tensed again when he saw officers coming towards him and whimpered the closer they came. Chase bit his lip. He moved his hands to Wilson's shoulders again. He hesitated a minute, then crouched closer to Wilson until he was loosely embracing him.

"They're not going to hurt you," he said, trying to be soothing. "It's alright. You're going to be out of here in just a minute. Just try to relax." He realized the insanity of his words as he finished.

Despite his attempts at reassurance, having more strangers so close to him in order to release his hands seemed to make his anxiety worse. Wilson didn't even try to hold back the frightened tears that spilled out.

Chase wasn't prepared for Wilson to suddenly throw his weight against him once his hands were free. He nearly toppled over in his surprise when Wilson surged forward towards the only familiar thing finally near him since the whole nightmare began. He threw his arms around Chase and crushed his face into the other man's coat desperately.

_Make them go away_, he silently pleaded behind closed eyes, _God please make them go away!_

Chase reacted instinctively, not caring about what the police officers thought. He returned the embrace as warmly as he could, suddenly reminded of just how cold it was out there and that Wilson wasn't wearing anything other than his shirtsleeves. He lowered his head until it was touching Wilson's and tried to speak so that the man could hear him.

"It's alright," he repeated. He rubbed brisk circles around Wilson's back trying to warm him. "We're going to get you home now. It's alright."

He struggled to shrug out of his coat without letting go of the other man completely. A nearby police officer realized what he was doing and quickly helped him shed the garment, taking it from him to drape around Wilson so he wouldn't have to move. His eyes floated up to the officer in silent thanks.

"There's an ambulance waiting," the officer said. "We're bringing in a stretcher."

Chase glanced down at the silent figure in his arms. He could feel Wilson breathing into his chest, but otherwise the man hadn't moved or made another sound. Removing his grip wouldn't be easy. He made a quick decision and shook his head at the officer.

"Just have it ready," he said firmly. "I'll bring him out."

He saw the officer look at him hesitantly. But the steely stare he gave deterred the man from objecting. The officer just nodded and backed away. After a moment, the others began to follow suit.

Chase breathed a sigh of relief when the crowd of officers began easing out from around them. He swallowed, ran his hand up Wilson's back again, and spoke.

"Alright, buddy," he said softly. "Let's get you out of here." He carefully adjusted his grip and prepared to get his feet out from under him. Wilson made a sound of distress and fumbled to clutch tighter to him. His fingers were trembling. "I've got you. It's okay, I've got you."

Slowly and carefully, Chase struggled to his feet and lifted Wilson up into his arms. His biceps began to shake with the strain and he widened his stance determinedly. Wilson clung to his neck weakly and dropped his head against Chase's collar, hiding his face.

Chase shifted his weight a little to make the hold a bit easier and began making his way out into the open air. He headed over to where the stretcher was waiting.

* * *

An unexpected commotion caught House's attention. He turned his head sharply away from where he had been ruthlessly bludgeoning yet another padlock, cane raised mid-strike.

A stretcher was being rushed across the asphalt lot by a several police officers and two uniformed EMTs.

His focus was diverted as quickly as it had been captured. He hurried across the lot in the path of the stretcher. A group of police officers was gathered in and around another small garage. They began parting as House came closer and he was able to see someone walking out. His heart suddenly skipped a beat when he recognized that it was Chase.

Carrying someone else in his arms.

House pushed his way through the group, hitting some legs with his cane to compel them to move and bulldozing over others.

The younger doctor bent down slightly and lowered Wilson onto the stretcher. But instead of letting go of him Wilson just held tighter around his neck, forcing Chase to remain hunched over with his arms braced against the mattress.

Trying to ignore the sudden tightness in his chest, House stepped up beside Chase.

"Hey-" His throat was as dry as sandpaper. He swallowed hard and tried again. "Wilson."

The expression of fear and desperation that came over his friend's face sent House's heart racing with panic. Wilson was looking at him like he had no idea who he was. He swallowed hard.

"It's me," he said thickly. "Wilson, it's me."

He brought his hand up gently onto his best friend's shoulder. It occurred to him as Wilson's head shot up to look in his direction that the touch felt completely foreign. Had he ever touched anyone that tentatively before?

Wilson continued to look at him like he was a total stranger for a few more terrifying seconds and he thought he couldn't breathe. Then Wilson blinked slowly.

"House," he whispered.

A horrifying burning sensation made House's eyes start to water. He had to swallow hard to push it away. But the burning in his chest wouldn't stop.

* * *

Foreman strode with the officers he had been with towards where a small group had gathered. He saw Chase immediately, standing beside a stretcher with his arms around a man sitting atop it.

He knew that the man was Wilson even before he saw House making his way over towards them. He reached them in time to see House place his hand on Wilson's shoulder. He stepped through the officers up beside Chase. The Australian glanced over at him with an unreadable expression.

When they both looked back towards the stretcher, Foreman was rendered speechless. By the look of shock that crossed Chase's features, he felt the same way.

As they watched, House threw his arms around Wilson and pulled him against his chest.

"Jesus," House said gruffly. He was blinking furiously, seeming to crush Wilson with his grip. "Jesus, Wilson."

In a move swifter than they would have given him credit for, House hopped up to sit beside Wilson on the stretcher. Wilson turned immediately to reach for him. His face disappeared against House's side until all that was visible was the top of his head. His shoulders were shaking.

House hugged the other man so closely that it looked like they were molded together and began rubbing his arms briskly across Wilson's back.

"You're freezing," he was saying. "God, Wilson, you're freezing."

From their positions, Chase and Foreman could see then that House's shoulders had started to shake too. They glanced at each other.

Without voicing it, they both decided that was just from the force of Wilson's shivering.


End file.
